Rachel's Story
by rastarabbit
Summary: A story about Rachel and the Joker, and what she does to save Harvey. Based on Heath Ledger's sexy Joker, set pre-Dark Knight. Sex, mild violence. I own none of the characters. Now complete. And hey, there's a sequel-"Don't Joke W/Me". Check it out!
1. A Little Merger

A LITTLE MERGER

A LITTLE MERGER

Rachel Dawes packed her laptop into her briefcase, grabbed her jacket, and strode purposefully out of the drab municipal building and into the teeming street. She felt a little guilty for sneaking out early, but she was meeting Harvey for dinner that evening and she wanted to run home and spruce up for him. After a grueling day, she felt she needed a shower and change of clothes.

As she approached her apartment, she noticed an old black sedan parked near her building. She'd never seen it before and it looked out of place in the chic, up-scale neighborhood. Normally, she might have jotted down the license plate—just in case—but she was too preoccupied with her evening plans to worry about it. She headed up the flight of stairs to her door. Once inside, she threw her things on the couch and checked her fish—swimming about in a lively manner, ready for food—when a familiar, and distinctly unpleasant, laugh emanated from her hallway.

Her heart in her throat, Rachel whirled around to see the Joker stroll into her living room. "Fish, huh? What boring pets. I guess that's all a busy career gal like you has time for, though…well, them and Harvey…"

She almost screamed, but she knew enough about dealing with insane people to realize that she needed to appear calm and in control. "Joker--What are you doing here? What do you want? How the hell did you get in??" Her voice was low and painfully strained, but the rapid-fire questions burst out, belying her affected poise.

"Oh, my goodness, so many questions—I can't think that fast, let me take 'em one at a time" the Joker smiled. "Let's see, what am I doing here—I came to see you!! Aren't you flattered? And what do I want—oh, I'll get to that later. How did I get in—well, that wasn't hard. You really should talk to maintenance about their cheap surveillance system, I'm sure you pay for better than that piece of crap…" The Joker spoke as he sauntered around her living area, examining pictures and handling knickknacks in a familiar way that made her blood boil.

"Ok, you need to get out of here—NOW." She directed firmly. After catching her breath, she was no longer scared so much as she was furious.

" But I haven't told you what I want!! And you were so delightfully curious a minute ago!" She started to move toward the heavy sculpture decorating her coffee table, but the Joker was in front of her in an instant. "I'm not here to hurt you, sweetheart, I just want to talk. About a little proposition that I have for you…" He was too close, she felt her face burning with the stress of maintaining her cool. After staring intrusively into her eyes, he moved cat-like around her, examining her from every angle. He was almost a head taller than she, and though slender—almost skinny—she sensed a latent physical power that scared her. And, he was crazy.

"Ok, fine. Tell me what you want, then get the hell out."

"Ok, ok, I'm gonna tell you. But you have to sit down. You're making me nervous, fidgeting around like this…" She sat on the couch, and he sat disturbingly close, his leg pressed against hers. She wanted to scoot away, but knew that would just agitate him. He was looking directly into her face, waiting until she turned to look back at him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she forced herself.

"That's better. We're both professionals, right? You understand about business—it's nothing personal. Networking, supply and demand…acquisitions? That's what I'm here for. I simply want to discuss a little…merger."

"For god's sake, what are you talking about?"

"Well, good ol' Harvey Dent is stepping on some, uh, highly placed toes, did you know that? He's definitely made a name for himself. I think he needs a distraction. Something to take his mind off of the, um, pressures of the marketplace…"

"Harvey is the District Attorney, he isn't involved in 'the marketplace'" Rachel asserted scornfully.

"Well, there's all kinds of markets, sweetie. And you, well, you are definitely a valuable commodity!" He could no longer contain himself and began snickering in a disconcerting way.

"What the hell do you mean, just tell me!" She had lost her composure, raised her voice, and she could see the effect wasn't good…

His eyes narrowed and he grabbed her shoulders, peering hard into her eyes with a fiery intensity. "All right, here it is. I want you…for a mate. For six weeks. You come to my place, live with me—like a wife! Being a psychopathic criminal doesn't leave a lot of time for socializing, and I've decided to avoid all that time-wasting drivel and get what I want, who I want, right now—today."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she had no doubt he was no longer playing with her. An icy wave of fear clouded her rational mind, and she found herself on autopilot.

"You are insane. There is no way I'm going anywhere with you, you cannot be serious…" she sputtered.

He smiled, pleased. "Oh, I'm completely serious. You see, I'm not like other people. I don't wait around for things to go my way—I make things happen. The other day, when I sat in that interrogation room, and you came in, all sensible suit and manicured nails, oh, man, I knew…I knew I had to have that. So, I've been watching you…I know you're a little wilder that you let on to dear old Harvey. So, in a way, I'm doing you a favor! Cut (at this point, he pulled a knife out of his pocket and pressed it against her face) to the chase! Oh, and you'll be doing Havey a big favor, too. I know you're interested in that…"

His words made no sense, but he released her, grabbed her briefcase and pulled out her laptop, set it on the coffee table and opened it up. "Here, access the Internet. _Do_ it." He directed her. Hands shaking, she did as she was told, and for a terrible moment she couldn't think of her password…she was aware of his sudden impatience and the knife in his hand…finally, the Web sprang up and he pulled the computer away from her, slipped the knife back in his pocket, and began typing rapidly. In a moment, a grainy picture appeared on the screen. "See? This is of interest to you, isn't it?"

She looked closely and realized the figure tied to a chair was Harvey. The fear that had already taken root in her mind morphed into terror and she looked at the man in the clown makeup seated next to her. "What…did…you _do_?" "Oh, now I've got your attention. Good, glad to hear it. This is the deal—you have a choice. You come with me now, as I said, and Harvey will be released. Oh, he'll worry, but he'll have a quiet life for the next six weeks, and then his little bunny will be returned to him—slightly worse for wear, no doubt, but alive. However, if you decline my offer—well, Harvey won't have _anything _to worry about, because he won't have any brains left in his head to worry _with_…."

The meaning of his proposition suddenly crystallized for her and she mechanically formed the words "so, if I don't go with you—Harvey will die?"

"Nice summarization!" he exclaimed gleefully, and laughed. "You are correct. Now, I know this is a big step—forming new relationships _can _be awkward—so you take all the time you need to think it over. You have two minutes" He stood up and took a seat in the easy chair across from the couch, watching her intently. She tried to think—what could she do to get out of this? As though reading her thoughts, he added "By the way, if I don't contact my man taking care of Dent, he'll die regardless."

Something clicked in her brain—she had to decide—and clearly, Harvey had a better chance of survival if she cooperated. She didn't trust the Joker, didn't believe his proposition would end well for either of them, but she could see there was no choice if she wanted Harvey to live. "Ok, I'll go with you. Just let Harvey go."

"Oh, I will, I will…as soon as you're safely settled in my cozy home, I'll send word that Harv is to be released. Then we'll start our little adventure…we're going to become…very close" he leaned forward as he said this and tapped her hand, as though to cement the deal. "I've taken the liberty of packing a case for you…you have some very nice…things…" he pulled a pair of lacy panties out of his sleeve to show her, and then tucked it back, chuckling to himself.

She felt helpless, out of her body, as he guided her to his car. He opened the door for her, and she realized there was no handle on the inside…not that it mattered. She knew she had to do what he wanted, to save Harvey. She tried not to think about what that might be.


	2. Welcome Home, Love

WELCOME HOME. LOVE

The car zipped along, heading away from the familiar, busy downtown world, toward the docks, the warehouses, the desolation of a town on the decline. She had a vague understanding of where they were going, tried to take notice of street names and landmarks, but her mind felt like jelly and her only concern was to maintain the appearance of self control. She knew his kind of crazy—or so she thought—and any little chink in her self-possessed armor would be used against her.

They finally arrived at an old, seemingly abandoned warehouse building. There was a garage door which magically opened as they drove up, and he parked in an area deep underground. He hopped out of the car, and led her to an old service elevator with a wooden roll-up door. He pulled it down, threw the lock, selected a button—the number six—and the old car began its slow creaky upward ascent. The Joker slouched against the wall of the car, looking upward, in the classic city-dweller elevator stance. She couldn't take her eyes off of him—she was searching his made-up face, the way he stood, his posture, his hands, trying to predict his intentions, his mood.

"Stop. Stop _look_ing at me" he suddenly hissed. She immediately averted her eyes, wondering if she had actually succeeded in making him uncomfortable. He added smoothly "You'll have all the time in the world to enjoy me over the next few days…I plan to give you a lot of undivided attention." She realized he was now staring at her, with a sly smile pulling at his scarred lips. "You really are so beautiful…" he said almost dream-like. She wondered if he was slipping into some new phase of psychosis. Just then the elevator came to a jarring stop, and he opened the door, indicating she should step out. There was a long hallway with several doors, and he unlocked the one at the end.

"Welcome home, love…" he said in a sing-song voice. She walked into a converted apartment, really just one large, open room with a kitchen area in the front corner, a dining table and two chairs, a sofa, a television and stereo equipment, a bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers. There was a large faded oriental rug on the floor. Off to the side was a small hallway that held a modern dressing area with mirror, sink and cabinets on one side, and a large walk-in closet on the other. At the far end was a bathroom.

"Make yourself comfortable, get to know the place. There's the bathroom. Here, let's put your stuff away." He unceremoniously dumped the contents of her bag into an empty drawer and tossed the bag into the closet. "I like to keep the place neat. I'm kind of particular about that." He strode over to the refrigerator and took out a bottled water, offered it to her. She shook her head, and he cracked up laughing."It's not _poisoned_, silly. Here. You'll want it later." That sounded ominous, but she accepted it, and looked around, trying to read the personality that inhabited the room. There were no pictures or personal touches, but the walls were each painted a different rich jewel tone and the furniture was old, battered and mismatched. It _was_ neat, except for numerous stacks of books, papers, and newspaper clippings that covered almost every flat surface.

"Sit down already," the Joker growled irritably, and Rachel took her seat on the couch, as far away from him as possible. He reached into his jacket pocket, making her flinch—she expected him to bring out a knife, but it was just a folded piece of paper. "All right, let's get down to business. While you're here, there's going to be a few rules…and, uh, _chores._ But don't worry—there'll be plenty of time for fun…and games…." He unfolded the paper. "You're free to move about the apartment, as long as you don't try to contact anyone to, uh, rescue you—that will result in poor Harvey's demise. Don't bother trying to escape—you won't make it down the hall. And as for trying to overcome me, outsmart me, kill me, whatever, I wouldn't suggest it, because you might succeed—once again resulting in good ol' Harv's untimely death. And if you _don't_ succeed, well, there will be…consequences for bad behavior…I define bad behavior as anything that annoys me, defies me, or bores me. So watch it. Have I been clear so far?"

"Yeah, I get it. You're the boss." she replied sarcastically.

He laughed nastily. "See, I knew you'd catch on! Let's run down the list of chores…"

He outlined basic housekeeping duties that she would be required to perform, including "planning and preparing meals five night a week—I know you can cook because I've seen the lovely dinners you've prepared for dear Harvey. The chicken cacciatore you made last Tuesday smelled particularly delicious…" Those words sent a renewed terror through her soul as she realized he'd not only been observing her comings and goings, but he'd been actively stalking her for at least two weeks. And she'd never noticed a thing…

"I can do all that. Is that it?" She tried to regain some degree of control over the situation.

"Well, let me just reiterate my earlier point—your behavior will result in consequences. Good behavior will lead to…nice things. Maybe even some little treats! But misbehavior will be punished, and I promise you…you won't like it…." At this point he put his arm around her neck and pulled her to him, planting a hard kiss on her mouth. The move startled and disgusted her and she immediately struggled to get out of his grasp. She felt a sharp sting across her cheek. The realization that he had slapped her immobilized her for a moment and she just stared at him blankly.

"DO _NOT_ REJECT MY AFFECTION, doll face. I'm trying to establish a positive relationship here…if you want this to go smoothly, you'll have to play along, don't you understand?" Numbly, she nodded and he kissed her again. This time she didn't try to resist, and when he slid his tongue between her lips, she opened her mouth and let him do what he wanted. He kissed her deeply, roughly, making her shiver. He stopped and looked at her. "That's more like it. Now, show me that you like me, too." He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her off the couch, onto her knees in front of him. He unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his erect member. In spite of her predicament , Rachel had to acknowledge he had a beautiful cock.

She was aware of his eyes burning into her as he waited to see what she would do. She made her decision and bent forward to take him in her mouth.

Giving oral sex was not her favorite thing under any circumstances, and this was almost more than she could bear. But she gamely ran her tongue around the head and down the long shaft, gently nibbling and lightly sucking at him. He allowed her to get accustomed to having him in her mouth, and then began giving her instructions. "Relax your throat, sweetie, take it all the way down. Shh, shh, I know, I know, you have a three inch throat and I have a nine inch cock, but you can do it…ok, ok, good try, you can stop, you can stop…" She had gagged, and was almost sobbing, and he pulled her back onto the couch and reached under her skirt to pull down her underwear. He got on top of her and she felt the head of his cock probing at her entrance, then he pushed himself all the way into her, deep and hard. He began pumping into her with powerful strokes, pulling her legs higher to avail himself of a more comfortable position. She lay passively under him until he finished, and he rolled off of her and they both sat up, breathing hard.

"Well, that was ok for the first time. But you're going to have to _move_ more, honey! Keep in mind, I know the quality of fucking you've been giving Harvey, and I expect no less! But I understand, you're just getting to know me… I guess I do have the advantage there, I feel like I've known you forever…" With that he brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. He whispered in her ear "In my mind, I've had you every way a man can have a woman, again and again, and it's wonderful…every time…" he lightly ran his fingers along the side of her face, and a cold chill ran through her to think she'd been the subject of his masturbatory fantasies. For the first time she wondered if she would be able to save Harvey after all.


	3. Getting To Know You

Abruptly, the Joker left the apartment

Abruptly, the Joker left the apartment. Rachel remained on the couch in a daze, unable to gather her thoughts into a coherent course of action. It wasn't that she'd never been in danger—once, a huge criminal had broken loose from his guards as she was walking down the hall leading to the jail, and he had dropped his bound arms over her head and pulled the handcuffs tight against her throat. She had almost lost consciousness before they were able to wrestle him off of her. In that moment, she had experienced true physical helplessness—it was the only time in her life that she genuinely thought she might die.

But this was different. Leave it to the Joker to find a way to render useless all her knowledge and experience in dealing with criminals, mentally ill or otherwise. This was a new game, and she didn't understand the rules. But she couldn't just sit there….

"The room's probably bugged", she thought, as she tentatively began inspecting her surroundings. He was probably watching her right now—maybe leaving her alone was a test. She was tempted to go through drawers and cabinets, see if she could find a weapon or any clue as to what she could do to protect herself, but she realized that if he was watching her, snooping would undoubtedly be considered "bad" behavior. And even if she did find anything, he had already warned her about the consequences of taking action against him. Yes, being here was her choice—playing his game was her own decision. There was no point in searching his things for weapons. But maybe she could discover clues to his mental state….she remembered he had deposited her things into a drawer. Surely he couldn't fault her for wanting to put her clothes in order? Besides, she was curious as to what he considered "necessities" for her time in captivity….

To her surprise, he had sensibly packed jeans and slacks, t-shirts, a dress, a casual skirt and blouse (actually, her favorites), some sneakers, shoes, several pairs of underwear and bras. A lacy nightgown and silk robe. Her makeup bag. He even found her birth control pills. God, how long had he been in her apartment before she came home?

She carefully folded her clothes, everything but the dress, skirt and blouse—those she took to the closet to look for hangers. She slid open the door and found that side of the closet was completely empty—left for her use? She hung up her things, then slid the door over to look at the occupied side—the Joker's wardrobe. There were several custom-made suits and shirts, similar to what he was wearing on that day. A few sport jackets and blazers. On the side was a rack holding ties, belts and suspenders. On the floor were several pairs of battered dress shoes, boots and a few worn pairs of sneakers. One set had a dark stain all over them—she gingerly picked one up and quickly realized the stain was blood. She dropped it in disgust, wondering whose it was—a murder victim? One of his pals? His own? She couldn't take any more, and headed back to the couch. She realized she was thirsty, as he had predicted, and she opened the water bottle and drank gratefully.

As suddenly as he had left, the Joker returned. "Hope you like pepperoni" he growled, disdainfully slinging a pizza box and a 6-pack of soda on the kitchen counter. He began clearing the dining table and directed her to get ice, glasses and plates. She did so, and to her amazement, they were soon settled in, eating really good pizza and watching the evening television as naturally as if they'd been longtime roomies.

To her dismay, as the evening wore on, Rachel sensed a high level of tension growing in her dining partner. She cast nervous glances at him as he single-mindedly clicked through the local news channels. His features tightened, and he took on a grim expression, saying nothing, only occasionally opening his mouth to lick or bite his lips. Suddenly, Harvey Dent's recent campaign picture filled the screen.

The Joker made a loud whoop, instantly delighted, bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Watch! Watch watch watch" he ordered her. The voice over announced "…after a hail of gunfire, the daring police rescue of Gotham's DA Harvey Dent was carried off without further incident, and Mr. Dent is now back home with full police protection until the perpetrators can be found…" He gleefully turned to Rachel and exclaimed, "There you go! See? I'm a man of my word…Little Harvey, safe and sound in his own bed, just like I said! Do I hear a 'thank you'?"

"Thank you," she whispered, stunned. "How…how did you pull that off? You had the police pick him up?"

"Of course!! Would I miss an opportunity to make the boys in blue look good? I owe them so much! Oh, and no one will miss you for a while, either. Everyone will think you're busy tending to poor, traumatized Harvey, and he'll think you're in protective custody until the "perpetrators" can be identified!" He burst out laughing, until tears came to his eyes. "Your laptop has come in so handy, my dear, God bless technology...oh, it's good, too good…." A sinking feeling washed over her. She realized that in the back of her mind, she had counted on the possibility that Harvey, Bruce, or Jim Gordon would figure out what had happened and somehow come to her rescue. That hope was just put to rest--indefinitely.

The Joker was in a good mood for the rest of the evening. He let Rachel have the TV remote, and she busied herself switching from station to station, following the story of Harvey's rescue, while her "boss" cheerfully cleaned up the kitchen. Every so often she heard him mutter to himself, repeating words or phrases over and over, followed by chilling laughter. She was grateful that he was distracted from her, but that kind of behavior hinted at a level of craziness that she didn't know how to handle on her own.

Suddenly, he spoke, and she knew he was addressing her directly. "All right then, time for bed! More fun and games, fun and games…you and me… (_singing_) _Getting to know you…getting to know all about you…_" He grabbed her hand and yanked her to a standing position, put one hand on her waist and twirled her about as if on a dance floor. It was a playful gesture that was almost enjoyable, but he then shoved her hard against the wall and began kissing her. He was rough and demanding, pressing his hips hard against her body so she could feel his erection. She tried to stay passive, but he ordered "Kiss me back," in a low growl, his warm mouth against her ear, sending a powerful, involuntary shudder through her. This was too much and she just had to rebel. "Why?' she demanded angrily, realizing as she said it how stupid she was being. "Why make me pretend? I'll do whatever you want, but I'm not that good an actress."

He laughed, but it was a grim, nasty laugh. Suddenly he grasped her face hard in his hands, and it scared her to feel him shake with the effort needed to control his fury. "I don't give a shit how you _feel_—this is a game, remember? My game. The catch is—I win. _Always_. If I want you to kiss me, then you'd better fucking do it. This will be your last warning." With that, he forced his tongue into her mouth, and she in turn forced herself to return the gesture, timidly using the tip of her tongue to feel between his lips, and beyond. He moaned approvingly, and whispered "More…."

She improved her efforts and after a few moments he turned her around so that she faced the wall. She heard his zipper come down, and he tugged at her panties until they slipped past her knees. He grabbed her securely around her waist, forcing her into a position that suited him, and then she felt him enter her. She was still sticky and wet from his earlier assault, and he made a sound of pleased satisfaction as he began fucking her. "That's nice, baby, god, that's nice…" This time he went slower, less brutal, as though he wanted to make it last. "Does that feel good?" he murmured in her ear. Damn it, she thought, it did, but she hated to give him the pleasure of knowing that. "Just get it over with, will you." she hissed back to him. Again, stupid, she thought, but he just laughed, and after a few more deep thrusts, it _was_ over. He gave her a playful smack on her bare bottom, and headed to the bed.

"Come on, sweetheart, we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow and we need our beauty sleep. Well, I do, at least, god knows _you_ couldn't be more beautiful…" He stood by the bed, a wistful smile playing at his full, scarred lips. He was gazing at her with such honest appreciation, she blushed. It disturbed her that he could so easily shift from terror-inducing menace to almost delightful charm, but she supposed that was the nature of the challenge she was facing. The only good thing was that her fear for Harvey Dent's well-being had been relieved, and once she reluctantly crawled in next to the Joker, she fell asleep almost instantly.


	4. A Nice Surprise

Rachel woke the next morning to the sun streaming into her eyes from one of the high, barred windows that graced the otherwise cave-like apartment

Rachel woke the next morning to the sun streaming into her eyes from one of the high, barred windows that graced the otherwise cave-like apartment. She heard sounds of movement in the bathroom, and after a moment, the Joker appeared, fully dressed, makeup refreshed, hair brushed.

"Good morning, sunshine, how ya doin'?" he asked with the smarmy fake-sincerity of a used car salesman. "Ready for a busy day?"

"Sure" she said bitterly. "Rarin' to go."

"Good. Sadly, I've got to go to work. But there's a list of tasks on the table that should keep you occupied. Do a good job, and I'll have a nice surprise for you tonight. Oh, and come up with a grocery list for the week and leave it under the door before noon. It'll be delivered by 5:00."

He tilted her chin as though she were a child and gave her first a leering, painted smile, and then a gentle kiss. He leaned in, and with his cheek pressed against hers whispered "I expect a home-cooked meal tonight. I hope I won't be disappointed, Miss…Assistant…Dis-trict Attor-ney." How was he able to make affection feel like a threat—or was it vice versa? she wondered. He released her, turned on his heel and was gone.

Rachel got up and showered, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and made a pot of coffee. As it brewed, she found the list he'd left, written in neat block letters. With a sigh, she fished the necessary spray cleaners and supplies out from under the sink—banishing the thought of finding the right lethal combination to throw in his face when he returned—and set to work. She didn't mind the chores. It gave her something to do, and she liked to be surrounded by cleanliness and order. When she got hungry, she poked around in the kitchen and found cereal and milk for her breakfast. She prepared her grocery list as she ate, and slipped it under the door, wondering who in the world would come to pick it up.

When the kitchen and bathroom were spic and span, she decided to tackle the books and papers that were stacked around the room, per his instructions. She was to organize the books into the shelves on the wall, and sort the papers into stacks by date. The books included texts on engineering, bridge construction, city planning and medicine, scientific books on sharks, poisonous insects and spiders, and strategies of military leaders throughout history—Napoleon, Rommel, and Patton among others. Many of the titles looked heavily used, with notes written on scraps of paper marking certain passages. She examined several titles curiously, trying to form a profile of the man who could not only understand, but seemingly enjoy, such a variety of complex topics.

The papers were a more daunting task. There were articles cut from various papers and magazines, as well as letters, all mailed to the same address, but each bearing a different "joke" name, such as Harry Weiner, and Otto B. Kilt. Apparently, one of the Joker's hobbies was writing impassioned fake complaint letters to various government entities. "What a pain in the ass," she couldn't help but chuckle as she imagined some poor public servant attempting to mollify the outraged Mr. Weiner over the lack of clothing on the statues at the downtown art gallery. The news articles were more puzzling. Many of them had to do with various criminal activities, but some involved large-scale disasters such as explosions and train wrecks, and others were innocuous "fluff" pieces about humorous incidents and local civic achievements. None of them seemed to have anything to do with the Joker, himself.

The afternoon flew by and shortly before 5:00 she was startled to hear a key in the door. But the person that entered wasn't the Joker, just one of his flunkies. He was a slight, pale man with a buzz haircut, and he was struggling to carry in three heavy bags of groceries. She ran over to help him and he stared at her blankly, then nodded his thanks. She automatically rummaged in her pocket for a tip, but he had already left by the time she realized that she had no money. It occurred to her that she wasn't really in a position to offer anyone in the Joker's world anything.

That evening, the Joker returned well after dark. Since he hadn't told her when to have dinner ready, she'd made a casserole that was delicious even when reheated. He was pleased and after eating, she showed him the work she'd done around the apartment. To her relief, he approved. It infuriated her to think that she cared what he thought about her menial work, and told herself it was just good sense to fulfill his expectations, when he would clearly use any mistakes as an excuse to terrorize her. But in reality, she liked it when he was happy with her. After he playfully tousled her hair and said "Good job, babe", she felt confident enough to ask "So where's my surprise?" She knew she was taking a calculated risk—who knew what the Joker's idea of a "nice surprise" might be—but he left the room, and returned with a small box.

"Here" he said, thrusting the box into her hands. She put it on the table and opened it to find a clear bag of water with two colorful fish in it, a small fish bowl, gravel, fish food, and even a tiny castle nestled in tissue paper. She turned to face the Joker—the maniac that, she assumed, murdered people in cold blood—and, bewildered, quietly thanked him for the lovely fish.

He burst out laughing, and said "Oh, I couldn't pass them up…they were looking at me in the pet store with their little pleading eyes, saying 'Take us home! Take us home to Rachel! She loves boring pets!'" He headed over to the couch, still chuckling, amused by her befuddled expression. "Hey, come'ere, I want to show you something…" She sat next to him and he pulled a knife out of his pocket. She gasped, but he looked at her quizzically and said "I just wanted to show you my new knife…" "Oh! Ok" she said, and she peered at the weapon, feigning curiosity. He held it balanced between his thumb and forfinger, then deftly popped it into the air and caught it by the handle. She watched in fascination as he easily flipped it, once, twice, three times, catching it expertly every time. "It's balanced perfectly. Here, see how heavy it is?" To her amazement, he handed her the knife, handle first. She took it, and it was indeed heavy and substantial.

He closed his hand around hers—for the first time she noticed what beautiful hands he had, long, slender fingers, almost sculpted in appearance—and pressed her fingers firmly around the handle. He pulled her arm straight out, guiding her through a move that he explained would immobilize an opponent in a knife fight. "See this channel, here? That's so the blood drains off and you don't get the handle all slippery." He then guided her hand to his throat, and made her press the knife against his flesh. "Look at me, right here, look..." She felt distinctly uncomfortable and wished he'd let her go, but he grabbed her face with his other hand and made her look at where the knife was positioned. "See, this is the carotid artery—all you have to do is sever that, and the victim will bleed out within four minutes…four minutes…not a very long time to contemplate the meaning of your life, is it?" he laughed. "But an eternity when you're waiting for someone to die…" The light in his eyes seemed to go somewhere else, and she felt a kind of sickness in the pit of her stomach. She thought of the shoes in the closet—how much blood pours out of a severed carotid artery, she wondered?

He gently took the knife from her and tilted his head, looking curiously at her. He caressed her face with his free hand, and tugged playfully at her t-shirt. "Let's have that off" he ordered. Reluctantly, she pulled the shirt over her head. "Now that…" He pointed the knife at her bra. Sighing, she reached behind her and popped the hooks open. He used the tip of the knife to pull the lacy fabric away to reveal her lovely breasts, and then carefully traced a line from her neck down to her belly with the cold steel, holding it flat so as not to actually split her skin. She openly shivered and started breathing hard. She felt an unwelcome flood of arousal warming her from her crotch to the tips of her fingers and toes, and hated herself. Somehow, she had managed to compartmentalize having sex with the Joker from the idea of being unfaithful to Harvey—she almost thought "dear" Harvey, after hearing the Joker's snide nickname for him so often—by rationalizing that she was only doing what she had to, to assure his safety. But things were changing, and she knew there was no going back.


	5. More Fun Than Tinker Toys

Rachel ended up naked in the Joker's bed

Rachel ended up naked in the Joker's bed. She was resigned to his rough treatment, but couldn't help feeling curious—and excited—as he took the trouble to undress in front of her for the first time. His lean, lanky body was revealed as he stripped off layers of clothing and carefully laid them over a chair on his side of the bed. He then clicked off the lamp, and the room became weirdly illuminated by the full moon's light

He crawled in next to her, growled "C'mere" and gruffly took her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him. He ran his hand possessively up and down over her back and bottom, affectionately squeezing her there, and laughing when she gasped with pleasure.

Rachel tried to study his face. The grease paint was smeared, completely gone in places, and she was again struck by the intensity of his deep brown eyes, the curve of his cruelly scarred, full lips. The sharp smell of stale sweat hit her—hmm, no deodorant—but otherwise, his scent wasn't unpleasant.

"I bet you're not bad looking under all that paint," she stated in a clinical way. He made a dismissive "humph" sound, disagreeing with her. Suddenly, he took her hand and pressed it against the side of his face, making her touch his deepest scars with her fingertips. They felt strange and wrong, but there was something heartbreaking about the way he wanted her to acknowledge them—as though he needed to know if she was repulsed, or if she could accept him as he was. Instinctively, she caressed his face, and gently kissed the ragged evidence of the brutality inflicted on him long ago. He sighed, and buried his face in her neck, breathed deep, seemingly loving her scent and the feel of her warm skin.

She slowly investigated his body, felt his muscles flexing under the smooth, taut skin of his arms, chest and back, appreciating how solid and defined they were. He submitted to her study, and she could sense tension as he restrained his desire. She felt his erection pressing against her, and couldn't help but take it in her hand, alternately gripping him tightly then releasing him, pulling the velvety skin up and down over the hard steel rod. She liked the way he moaned when she stroked him. She thought he would lose control when she reached lower and gently but firmly handled his scrotum, running the tips of her nails over the rough-textured skin. But he just lay quietly, accepting the mild torture until she looked up at him, wanting to see what he would do.

The Joker took his cue and grabbed her again, but instead of the violent response she expected, he kissed her and teasingly bit her lower lip, not to hurt her, but to excite her. He nuzzled her breasts, murmured "Nice tits" approvingly, and slipped his hand between her legs, taking the time to tend to her arousal, until she was eagerly thrusting against his hand, wanting him to enter her. He chuckled, amused by her responsiveness—so different from her earlier disdain. "Say, you're a lot more fun to play with than Tinker Toys, I never could get those to work right," he joked. "Oh, shut up," she responded, embarrassed. He grinned as he pushed her onto her back and got on top of her.

He started out trying to be gentle, but that didn't last long. Rachel could tell he didn't mean to hurt her, but he thrust into her, hard, for a long time, leaving her feeling bruised and sore, the insides of her thighs aching from being held apart for so long. Even so, she soon felt a rush of pleasure flood her body, slowly at first, then fast and powerful, resulting in a profoundly satisfying orgasm unlike anything she had experienced with Harvey—or even Bruce. And then, another, and another. She wanted to cry out his name—his real name—but she didn't know what it was. It didn't seem like a good time to ask.

He finally came, and rolled off of her, breathing hard. They lay in silence until he tentatively asked "You ok?" "Yeah. I'm fine." she assured him. "Ok, well…goodnight" he said, awkwardly. Rachel wondered what he was thinking. She wondered where the knife was. She decided that this night, at least, she would not worry. She snuggled up next to him, put her arm around his waist, and felt some sense of peace when he pulled her to him. They quietly settled into sleeping positions and soon both drifted off, clinging to each other in a kind of uneasy truce.

She woke the next morning, disappointed to find herself alone. She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was bright, and she reluctantly rolled out of bed, grimacing slightly at the soreness between her legs. She felt fine by the time she had showered, dressed and made coffee, and wondered what tasks lay ahead of her. She found a note folded on the table: "Morning, love—you were a very good girl last night, ha-ha—don't worry about cleaning—be dressed to go out when I pick you up at 10:00 am.

J."

"Go out?" she thought. Like a date?

She turned on the TV and found that it was almost 9:30.

She changed into her skirt and blouse set, tried to get her hair to do something besides just lay there, and put on make up. She was just finishing when she heard a key in the lock—she turned to look, but instead of the Joker, she saw a handsome young man, tall and slim, with long, wavy blondish-brown hair and deep brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and leather boots, a t-shirt and battered sport jacket, and had it not been for the deep scarring on his face, she never would have believed who it was.

Rachel was speechless. He grinned mischievously, and said "Yeah, you look nice, too." He came over to her and stood in his usual slouchy posture, waiting for her to say something. "My god, how old are you??" she blurted out. She had assumed he was in his mid-thirties, or even older, but without the thick makeup, it was clear he was only in his twenties. He laughed, and didn't answer. "Are you ready to go?" "Uh, yeah, sure…" She was still stunned, but she gamely followed him out the door.

Once again, she was riding the elevator car, unable to keep her eyes off him, but it was with admiration and puzzlement, not fear. How could simple paint transform such a beautiful man into such a disturbing creature? This time, he didn't admonish her for staring, but simply accepted her scrutiny. She supposed he was prepared for it….

They got in the car and he drove toward the city. She had a sharp thrill of excitement as the beloved skyline came into view. "Where are we going?" she asked curiously. "We're taking the day off, angel, we can go anywhere you want. What do you want to do?" She felt like a kid playing hooky, and she hardly knew what to say. It was completely unlike the Joker to ask her what she wanted. "Well…how about a movie?" "Ok, what do you want to see?" "There's a period piece about Queen Elizabeth…" He wrinkled his nose and asked "You want to see a movie about Queen Elizabeth's periods?" he asked incredulously. "Oh, _yuck_! No! It's a historical drama, you dumb ass!" she responded, exasperated.

He cracked up laughing—the natural laugh lines of his face momentarily obscuring the scars—and she did too. Laughing felt good, and for the first time since he had appeared in her apartment, she felt as though she was a normal person, out on a date with a normal man. And that feeling caused her to suddenly well up in tears—she was _not _a normal person and this—this man—whoever and whatever he was—was not normal. He was a thief and a murderer, and god knows what else. The fact that he could make her forget that fact shamed her, and she turned away from him so he wouldn't see the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Nothing" she answered, trying to control her voice. She heard him sigh, frustrated, and he abruptly pulled into an empty parking lot. "Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden" he demanded. "Nothing! Nothing is wrong, except…I'm riding around in a car with someone who…who _rapes _me…and is holding me c-captive so that the man I love won't be _killed_…" her voice gave out on her and she dissolved into sobs. He sat back and stared out the window.

Then she felt him looking at her. He reached over and grabbed a chunk of her hair and forced her to face him. "Now listen to me." His voice was low and even, but icy cold. He licked his lips, and his eyes shifted to an intensity that came from the sick part of his brain. "I have done everything I could think of to make you comfortable in my home. And, I gave you the terms of the agreement—up front. You didn't have to play. You made your choice. If you're angry, be angry at yourself. I'm not responsible for your hatred—you hate yourself. Oh, and as for raping you—if last night was rape, you have a funny way of trying to fight me off…" He proceeded to mimic her cries of pleasure in a high, mock-girlish voice, and then angrily turned the car back on and pointed it in the direction of his home.

"Wait!" she cried. "You're right…you're right…please don't go back to the house. Let's go into town—you pick the movie, or whatever you want to do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spoil the day…" she felt desperate to get into the city, to try to recapture that "normal" feeling again. And, she had to admit—he _was_ right, at least about last night. Maybe she was as confusing to him as he was to her.

He sighed, considering, then shrugged and headed back toward Gotham.


	6. Clarifying the Contract

Rachel knew very well where the Gotham Cineplex was, and soon realized the Joker wasn't headed in that direction

Rachel knew very well where the Gotham Cineplex was, and soon realized the Joker _wasn't_ headed in that direction. He was, in fact, heading toward a very familiar part of town, and she felt at first confused, then frightened, to see that he was actually driving slowly down the street of the very building where she and Harvey Dent both worked.

"What are you doing??" she asked nervously.

"I'm going to clarify the terms of our contract." he stated grimly. He pulled into a parking space half a block from the front door of City Hall, pulled out a cell phone, and texted a brief message. A cold rush of fear ran through her and she anxiously watched the building to see what would happen. Nothing. But the Joker simply gazed toward a building in front of them, across the street from Dent's workplace. Shortly, a man appeared on the roof, and when the Joker waved, he raised an automatic rifle in a small salute, and nodded. Then he turned and disappeared.

"Bill is an ex-Army sniper and he's, uh, 'on call' for me." the Joker explained. "If I want Harvey dead, all I have to do is send a little message. Oh, and let me show you something else." He pulled out of the parking space and headed around the corner, traveled several blocks away, to a neighborhood Rachel knew equally well, the one where Harvey's apartment was located.

He parked in the garage of a building across the street from Harvey's, and indicated she was to follow him. They took the elevator up a few flights, and he led her down the hallway of what appeared to be an office complex undergoing renovation. He stopped at one of the offices, fished keys out of his pocket, and opened the door of an empty room. The Joker strode over to the window, motioned her to him, and silently pointed through the window, across the street. Following his line of sight, she could see right through Harvey's open windows, and into his living room.

"Oh, my God" she whispered. "Yeah, how about that?" he replied. "Depending on the time of day, I can have Harvey taken out within 30 minutes, no muss, no fuss."

"Why are you showing me this?" Rachel asked weakly.

"Because I want you to remember what you signed up for. What our contract really means. Because I want you to understand: I'm…not…_joking_." He suddenly smiled, his dark eyes penetrating into hers, and she noticed he absolutely did _not_ need the grease paint to look terrifying.

Once back in the car, the Joker casually turned on the radio and headed toward the Cineplex, located on the outskirts of downtown. Driving with the music on seemed to lighten his mood, and by the time they arrived, he was almost back to the cheerful demeanor he'd sported that morning. "I don't think I have the stomach for that broad in the tiara," he warned her. "How about this one instead?" He indicated an action flick that featured a lot of car chases and explosions, and she meekly nodded. "Sure, that's fine with me." Rachel didn't want to send him back to his dark place if she could help it.

He bought drinks and a box of popcorn for them to share and they settled into seats in one of the upper rows. It was midday on a weekday and there were only a few other patrons down toward the front.

The movie seemed ridiculous to her, but the Joker got a kick out of the car chases and gunplay. Midway through the show, he put his arm around her and whispered "Blow me." She looked at him, shocked, but she could see he was serious. "NO!" she hissed back. "Aw, c'mon" he responded encouragingly. "No one will see." "_No," _she refused again. "Well, no popcorn for you," he said haughtily, and moved the box to his other side. Just then, a big shoot-out scene came on, and he was momentarily distracted by the screen action. However, he returned to his demand after the scene switched to a romantic exchange between the lead characters.

He pulled her to him and kissed her nastily, taking her hand and thrusting it onto his crotch. "Come on, Rachel, give it up. It's not like you couldn't use the practice." "No, I won't do that in a public place," she protested.

"You don't want me to make a scene, do you? Or rather, you don't want me to make _you _make a scene." He slid his hand up her skirt, and found a place inside her thigh where, when he dug in his thumb and fingers, brought sharp, stabbing pain. "Ow, ow, stop that" she demanded, trying to keep her voice down and pull away from him. He kept steady pressure on her leg, and she found she wasn't strong enough to extricate herself. She had to give in if she didn't want to attract unwanted attention. "Ok, ok, I'll do it, stop!" she hissed angrily. He gave a low laugh, and unzipped his jeans.

Rachel bent over his lap, feeling exposed and violated, but as she performed the act, she became less aware of her surroundings and more focused on pleasing him. He kept his hand on her back, stroking her encouragingly, and she could feel him struggle to keep from crying out in pleasure as he approached orgasm. He suddenly arched his back and groaned, "I'm coming," just a tad too late for her to do anything about it. Disgusted, she spat into a paper napkin and shuddered as she sat back up. Watching her discomfiture, he gave an appreciative chuckle and whispered "Now, _that's _entertainment!" as he zipped up his pants. Angry, Rachel refused to acknowledge him for the rest of the movie, but he eventually grabbed her hand and teasingly pressed kisses and little nips onto her palm and fingers until she relented and let him pull her to him in a tight bear hug.

They left the movie house and walked in the direction of the busy downtown shopping district. They were still on the outskirts, but the sidewalks were busy, and for a moment Rachel lost track of her companion in the crowd. Fearing he would assume she tried to escape, she frantically looked for him, started to call his name, and caught herself—did she really want people hearing her yell "Joker"? What the hell was his name? Suddenly, she spied him peering into a storefront window, and hurried to catch up to him.

"Ok, that's it, you have to tell me….What…is…your…name, your _real_ name?" she demanded.

He looked at her, and answered mildly, "Jack." As if she should have known.

"Oh. Well, _Jack_, if you would keep in mind that I can't walk as fast as you, it would help."

"Come in here, I want you to see this…" She followed his lanky form into a small Asian grocery store, and stood with him on an aisle near the front counter. A young woman was speaking loudly and aggressively to the older man behind the counter, and down the aisle, an older woman was busily stuffing merchandise into her coat. The woman strode defiantly past them and when she was out the door, the younger woman abruptly ended her diatribe and headed out the door, as well.

"Mom and daughter shoplifting team." The Joker explained cheerfully. "Poor old guy won't know what hit him until his wife does the inventory and tears him a new one for being careless." He laughed, and they left, heading the opposite direction from the shoplifters.

They walked further into downtown, and the stores became more and more upscale, as did the shoppers. Rachel watched for people's reactions--she would have thought the dreadful scars on his face would have had people staring, but no one gave him a second glance. That is, except for a trio of young girls who clearly appreciated the Joker's appearance, scars or not, as evidenced by their eager smiles and giggles. He seemed oblivious, but after they passed he said wistfully "Ah, so much pussy, so much potential jail time…." Rachel gave him a reproving look, but he just continued to walk along in an exaggeratedly dignified manner.

They found themselves at an outdoor coffee shop, and Jack bought them each a cup. They sat at a table and she noticed he had a bead on several young men loitering down the block from them. "What's so interesting?" she asked. "Watch." he said. One of the boys stepped away from the group and followed a fast-walking businessman, until he stopped at the coffee wagon. Once his transaction was completed, the boy deftly removed the man's wallet and sauntered back to his group. The other young men made approving noises and the group triumphantly hustled on down the street.

"Heartwarming, isn't it?" he asked. "Oh, the friendship of youth, bound together by a deep love of larceny…they'll be knocking off liquor stores before long, believe me…This city is rotten from the ground up."

"You can't condemn a whole city because of a couple of bad apples. That's completely unfair."

"Oh, come on! We've been on this street for less than an hour and we've already witnessed two petty crimes. How many more do you think are going on that we don't even notice? And what about all these other 'bystanders'—we weren't the only ones in that grocery store, and we're not the only ones on this street. If someone was stomping a little old lady to death, these fine citizens wouldn't look up from their lattes and crossword puzzles."

"That's ridiculous! Maybe the people of Gotham are a little jaded, but when they're called upon to step up, they'll do the right thing!"

"Really? Let's test that little theory…" With that, the Joker stood up in front of her and yelled "You stupid bitch! I'll kill you!" and his fist shot out so fast, she was sure he was going to clip her on the jaw. It was just a theatrical move that didn't connect, but, at the same time he swept his foot against the flimsy legs of the plastic chair she was sitting in, and she fell to the ground with a cry. He smoothly sat down and took a sip of his coffee, as Rachel, startled and bewildered, picked herself up and regained her seat. To her utter amazement, not one person offered to help her, or even did much more than to glance up from their laptops or newspapers.

"You asshole!! Why did you do that??" she sputtered.

"I was just making a point. Look around you—what excuse do you have for these wastes of space? What possible reason is there for no one 'stepping up' to find out if I broke your jaw or not? They're either scared or think they're too good to get their hands dirty. Or, maybe they're waiting for the show to get good."

Rachel managed to regain her composure and looked around again slowly. She noticed the man at the next table surreptitiously staring, then averting his eyes as she looked at him. Other people were studiously avoiding her gaze. She felt a little defeated.

"Can we go home now?" She couldn't believe she was asking that, but the affirmation of the Joker's cynical outlook on life in Gotham had worn her out.

He nodded, amused, and they headed back in the direction of the car. As they reached a less populated area of downtown, they were in the middle of an almost deserted street when a beat up sedan came barreling around a corner. The brakes squealed, and it stopped just short of ramming into Rachel. The driver stuck his head out the window and irritably yelled "Watch where yer goin', you freakin' morons!"

The Joker strode over to the car and, cat-like, jumped onto the hood. Using the heel of his boot, he smashed in the man's windshield, then lightly dropped to the ground to face the driver as he leapt out of the car in a rage. Rachel noticed that the Joker reached into his jacket pocket….

"You, you _BASTARD_!!" the man shrieked. "I'm gonna beat the crap out of you!!" The man was built like a stevedore, close to twice the Joker's weight, but as he swung his brawny arm to deliver a roundhouse punch, Jack easily grabbed it and twisted it painfully behind his back, at the same time bringing the knife in his hand to the man's thick throat. He turned the man to face his car and kept him pinned there as he whispered something in his ear.

Rachel was terrified that Jack would leave the man a bleeding heap in the street, but he released him unharmed. The driver, dazed, walked up to Rachel, his face ashen, with the Joker casually keeping his knife hand on the man's back.

"Now, what did you have to say to the lady?" he asked like a teacher prodding a reluctant pupil.

"Uh—I'm sorry…"

She could hear the Joker gently coaching "_Very_ sorry."

"Yeah, _very_ sorry, I'm very sorry to have almost run into you ma'am, I'll be more careful next time. And my, uh…" "Apologies…." "…_apologies_ for my rudeness…"

With that, he hastily lumbered back to his shattered-glass vehicle and tore off, burning rubber in the process. The Joker raised his hand in a friendly wave, and then turned to Rachel and said, exasperated, "You see? You can't be nice to some people…he could have at least said thanks for the etiquette lesson…."

Rachel felt both disturbed and flattered by Jack's brand of chivalry, and was all the more certain that it was time to head back to the house.

They picked up Chinese takeout for dinner, and settled in for the night, taking their meal comfortably sitting on the coach with the evening news on television. Rachel was disappointed to find that there still was no word on the fact that she had been missing for three days. Whatever techno-crimes the Joker was committing with her e-mail and laptop must be working, she thought grimly. She watched him, taking advantage of his engrossment in the local news to once again try to find clues to the man's psyche.

"How'd you get those scars?" she finally asked softly. He stopped chewing, and shot her a squinty look.

"Why? Do you think you can figure me out if you know? Think you'll have the keys to my fragile little brain if I give you the whole miserable story?"

"No, Jack, I just…I just wondered," she said gently.

He looked back at the television and after a moment, begrudgingly launched into the story. How his abusive fathered murdered his mother, and then mutilated him, his twelve year old son. How his father was killed in prison. How he, Jack, spent years bouncing from group homes to foster homes, to juvenile detention, to jail. The story unfolded as spare as a resume, and his voiced betrayed no emotion but bitter humor. She ended up with many more questions than answers, but understood that he had revealed as much as he was going to, at least for the time being.

"I'm so sorry, Jack, that's horrible…"

"I don't want your pity," he said crossly. He cast a dark glance at her, and shook his head. "I used to ask 'why me?' I kept wondering what I'd done wrong. It took a long time, but I finally realized—it's all a big joke. Anything can happen to anyone. There's no defense against bad luck, or fate, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe you die, and then you don't have to worry anymore. Or, you push back. I learned that—if the universe decides to make you the butt of its little joke, steal the punch line. Turn things in on themselves. Forget the rules, throw a little chaos into the mix. Take what you want, have a good time, and if you die, you die. That's what I believe."

"Oh, come on Jack, there are good people in the world. Surely you've met a few…"

"My mom was a good person, and look how she ended up. You're a good person, and here you are—with me. What did you do to deserve that?"

"I don't know. Maybe I have things to learn, and maybe meeting you is supposed to teach them to me, but I don't think inflicting misery and fear on others is the solution to the problems in the world."

"No, because there _are_ no solutions. The do-gooders of the world—like you and Harvey—refuse to see that. You keep trying, but it doesn't do any good. I'm just here to point that out every once in a while."

Rachel couldn't muster the energy to refute his black view of life; she knew there was nothing she could say to change him, and she needed every bit of strength she had to keep her own mind under control. If she wasn't careful, she'd be ready to sign on as his apprentice lunatic in very short order.

"I'm going to go to sleep, if you don't mind," she said, getting to her feet, and waiting to be dismissed. He looked up at her and for a minute she thought he was going to say something, but he just motioned her to go along and turned back to the television.


	7. Look Terrified For Me

Days passed relatively uneventfully and Rachel settled into a sort of self-imposed routine, although everything could be disrupted by the Joker's whims and moods

Days passed relatively uneventfully and Rachel settled into a sort of self-imposed routine, although everything could be disrupted by the Joker's whims and moods. He went back to using the clown makeup. Sometimes he was gone overnight, and then he would sleep most of the next day. Other times, he was in and out of the apartment with a consuming purpose, seeming to need no sleep at all. Rachel gathered he had a headquarters elsewhere in the building and used it to orchestrate whatever it was he did. She kept up with the news and was disturbed to find more and more correlation between his comings and goings and various crimes in the city. But neither his name nor his picture was ever mentioned in the reports.

And, finally, the day came when the news report announced that Assistant DA, Rachel Dawes, was missing. Harvey's interview was played again and again, the one in which he broke down while making a plea for any information leading to her safe recovery….

The Joker watched impassively when it first came on. Rachel cast an angry look at him and said "So, you're just going to let him suffer, not knowing whether I'm dead or alive?" "I don't know, do you think I should let him know you're dead?" the Joker shot back. She dropped the subject, feeling the weight of Harvey's pain fill her heart. But she couldn't allow herself to lose control over it.

Mostly, she tried to keep out of the Joker's way to avoid setting him off, but, as was always the case where he was concerned, she faced mixed emotions. She found herself craving his attention. He was a force of nature, and when he was home he brought with him a vibrancy and excitement that she had never experienced with anyone else—even though it could be a dark and troubling kind of energy. When he was away, the apartment seemed constrictive and dull. It angered her to realize that her heart jumped in anticipation when she heard his key in the door, the way it used to when she was waiting for Harvey to come by.

The Joker's lust for her was one constant, and when he was away, she found herself daydreaming about his touch, his body, the feel of him next to her, inside her. When he was in a good mood, he was an affectionate lover, often taking her breath away, teasing her for her lack of decorum, then delighting her with the intensity of his passion.

Other times, she felt like a lab rat that he was testing to see how far he could go before she broke…she didn't like one of his favorite little games, the one where he would handcuff her to the metal headboard of the bed and then lay his head between her legs and use his tongue and fingers to stimulate her. She couldn't stand the lack of control, the vulnerability of not being able to use her hands to push him away when the feelings became too intense. After a bout like that, the actual sex act was almost a relief, even though he was usually rough and demanding. She was always grateful when he would finally unlock the cuffs and let her settle into sleep.

One evening, the Joker brought in a canvas bag, which turned out to contain a camera, tripod and folding hi-intensity lamp among other things. He began setting up the equipment, placing a straight-back chair in the middle of the room. He ignored her, humming tunelessly as he worked, and Rachel watched, mystified.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I've decided I need to relax more. I need…a hobby. So, I'm taking up, heh, _photography_." He suddenly turned his attention to her, and with a wicked grin, grabbed her wrist and clamped a handcuff on it, and before she could struggle away, he pulled her other arm behind her and soon had both wrists manacled.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jack, stop it! I will not be the subject of your sick, degrading humor!" Rachel protested indignantly.

"Don't worry, this will be done in the utmost good taste…now, sit down." When she refused to go near the chair, the Joker grabbed her shoulders and forced her into it, holding her down with one strong arm, while he dropped a length of rope over her midsection with the other and soon had her affixed to the back of the chair.

"Dammit, Jack! You are really pissing me off!" Rachel yelled, struggling uselessly.

"You know, I really do my best work in a quiet atmosphere…" Jack pulled a roll of duct tape out of the bag and pulled off a piece which he unceremoniously pressed over her mouth.

Rachel was about to blow a gasket, but she became quiet and still when the Joker knelt in front of her. She was preparing herself—was he going to hit her? But he just rubbed some black greasepaint from the kit he used on his own face onto his fingers and then applied it under her eye, plus some more onto her left cheek. He checked his work critically, and added a bit more, smudging the paint to better effect.

"There, very realistic. What's the matter, are you a purist? Would you prefer to sport the real thing?" She shook her head vehemently. "I didn't think so. Ok, try to look terrified for me…"he said cheerily, and he adjusted the lamp and took a picture. He peered through the viewfinder and snapped a few more, then set the timer.

He walked over to her and pulled a pistol out of his pocket. Rachel gasped behind the tape, suddenly acutely afraid. Keeping his body outside of the range of the viewfinder, he held the gun to Rachel's temple, and a second before the picture flashed, pulled the trigger. The hammer came down with nothing but a tinny click, but Rachel almost passed out from the shock of it.

"Perfect! That's a keeper!" the Joker exclaimed. "No retakes needed—unfortunately! Although I don't think I could ever reproduce that expression on your face again…" He went off in a spasm of laughter as he set the camera to auto-wind the film, then popped it out and into the pocket of his vest. Rachel was shaking and trying desperately not to cry. He came to kneel in front of her again, this time offering mock sympathy. "Oh, dear, that probably was a little…excessive. But it's really important to have my subject show genuine emotion, that's the mark of a good action photograph!" He untied the rope and then unlocked the cuffs. He was utterly unprepared for the hard right punch that Rachel delivered square in his face as she got back the use of her arms.

"You bastard…"she hissed. "I am going to kill you…" The first blow had taken the Joker by surprise and knocked him off balance, the second sent him sprawling on his back on the couch. Rachel straddled him and began pummeling him in blind fury. The Joker was reduced to such a fit of laughter that tears ran down his cheeks, and he barely tried to defend himself other than to put his hands in front of his face to deflect some of the blows. "Oh, my god, you are on fire!! Where's the camera now??" he almost couldn't get the words out for laughing. Finally, Rachel's adrenaline rush wore off, and exhausted, she dissolved into tears of frustration, hurt, and anger.

"I hate you," she whispered bitterly.

"I know you do, I know! And I don't blame you." The Joker firmly gripped her two fists in his hands and pulled her down next to him so that they were lying together side by side. His infuriating amusement subsided and he tried to adopt a serious expression.

He held her and rocked her like a child, making soft comforting noises in a low voice. "Poor baby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…." he murmured, kissing her forehead and the top of her head.

Rachel finally pulled herself together and sat up to look at him. "Jack, why would you do that to me?" she asked, genuinely hurt at his cruelty.

He sat up as well, and appeared to actually ponder the question. "I don't know…I guess it didn't occur to me that you'd think I'd really shoot you."

His answer left her even more bewildered. "Well, Jack, for future reference—when a homicidal maniac holds a gun to a woman's head, she's going to assume that he _will_ shoot her. Try to remember that next time you want to scare someone to death."

The Joker pulled her into his arms and said quietly "I really am sorry. Sometimes I just…do things. I should've thought that through a little better…" He tilted his head back to look her in the eyes, and she saw sincerity in his usually mocking expression. She nodded, and, like a child beaten by a parent, turned to him for comfort, for there surely was no one else to go to.

"Come on, let's get out of here for a while." He said it gently, and she realized he was trying to make amends. "Wait, we're going out like this?" she asked, surprised. He had full clown makeup on, and she still sported a fake black eye. "Yeah, no one will see us."

They headed out, and he had her wait while he stopped to unlock another door. She got just a glimpse of a room that looked like a combination office and control room, and she supposed this was where he spent a lot of his time when he wasn't with her. He stepped in to leave the roll of film on a desk, then locked the door and led her to a window at the end of the hall. "Careful, we're pretty high up." He showed her how to wiggle out of the open window and onto a ledge which led to a fire escape. He indicated that she should climb upward, and they scampered up to the roof.

Once there, the Joker took off his suit jacket and laid it over a concrete vent, making an impromptu seat for them. The night was cool and there was dampness in the air—they were near the water, she remembered. But the sky was clear and she could see the beauty of the Gotham cityscape in the distance. They sat together and looked all around them, hearing the low rumble of traffic from the nearby highway on one side, and the toot of a tugboat that was running down the river opposite them.

"Wow, this is amazing," Rachel said begrudgingly. "The city's so beautiful…."

"Mmm, like you…" he answered softly.

Then: "Do you really hate me?" he asked curiously.

"I'm still really angry with you, but…I don't know. I hope I never end up hating anyone."

"Yeah…that would be great." he agreed with mock child-like enthusiasm.

"You hate a lot of people, don't you, Jack?"

"I used to. Now, I just see it's all really…funny."

She decided to drop that conversation and instead scooted a little closer to him, partly for warmth, but also because she was tired and wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her, and they sat there for a long time, letting the city's healing powers wash over them in the night.


	8. Kicking It Up A Notch

**A/N: **Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who has stuck with the story thus far, and especially the wonderful folks who took time to review!! Kendra L, One-and-Only Joker, Haylybaby, AestheticNarcissist, I appreciate it, it's what keeps me going! Anyone else out there who is enjoying the story, I'd **love** to hear from you, too!

WARNING—this chapter will contain a heavy-duty sex act—may not be your cup of tea, so be aware. You can skip that part and it won't affect the plot.

Also, we're kind of in the second phase of the story and I'll be changing the POV to the Joker's sometimes, and also introducing an OC a bit later for plot's sake. Please let me know if it's jarring or you don't like the direction we're going in, but I think it will work out nicely. Thanks!!—Reeniecat

Ever since Rachel came to live with him, the Joker had been keeping up a steady e-dialogue with Harvey, Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon, and various other significant people listed in Rachel's on-line address book. It had been fun as hell, impersonating her little buttoned-down, zipped-up tone of voice, using exclamation points and smiley faces, and "OMG!!", and always being super polite, even to the obvious jerks. More than once he had to contain himself to avoid telling off a particularly irritating contact.

He'd had to juggle the three main aspects of her life—her romance with Harvey, her friendships, and her work—to leave the impression that wherever those people were, Rachel was somewhere else, and for various reasons, couldn't be personally contacted.

When almost three weeks had whizzed by, the Joker knew it was going to be impossible to keep up the charade; Bruce and Harvey would inevitably run into each other, or someone would ask the wrong question at the wrong time—so the Joker was well prepared when the email message from Harvey read: "Rachel—where the hell r u? Bruce says he hasn't seen you in weeks!!"

The Joker chuckled. Oh, good, the big boys were finally getting it. Let the games begin in earnest…he poised his fingers over the keyboard and considered; then he typed "You're a little slow, Harvey. About time you caught on." He hit the "send" key and felt a spark of anticipation imagining Harvey's face as he read the message.

"Who the hell are u?" Harvey fired back.

"No one important."

"Where's Rachel??"

"Shhh…it's a secret."

"WHO ARE YOU!! WHERE IS SHE??"

"You're boring me. Ask a different question."

The rapid-fire exchange halted for a moment, then…

"IS SHE OK?"

"Yes, jeeze, stop yelling."

"What do you want?"

"Check your mail box. I'll wait."

The Joker relaxed again, waiting for Harvey to return to his computer. He envisioned his reaction when Harvey opened the manila envelope containing the pictures from his photo session with Rachel bound, gagged and "beaten". When Harvey saw the authentic look of terror on her face in the one with the gun, he'd realize the seriousness of the situation. Yeah, scare him shitless. A slow smile stole over the Joker's face.

"You bastard, tell me what you want." came Harvey's next line of text.

"I have what I want, and she's delicious. But I am willing to negotiate. R u?"

Harvey froze as he read the sinister message. His mind was in a spasm of horror and he couldn't think of the words he needed. Finally, he just typed "Yes."

"Very good. Expect a phone call. Good night, Harvey."

After that, none of Harvey's frantic messages received a reply.

The Joker closed the lid of Rachel's laptop for the final time and handed it off to one of his men for disposal. If there was anything to track, it would lead to the murky bottom of the East river. The Joker swung his long legs up onto the desk, and leaned back, stretching dangerously far in his creaky desk chair, his arms clasped over his head, staring at the dingy ceiling.

_How could a man have a woman like Rachel and never send a single dirty email?_ he pondered. It was beyond him. He would be carrying on a filthy dialogue that would curl Larry Flynt's hair; Harvey's messages were always so bland and boring._ Boy, is he in for a surprise when Rachel is returned to him…so many new tricks I've taught her,_ _heh heh. Harv won't know what hit him. _"Did you a favor, Harvey-boy", he spoke out loud, with a nasty grin. And, he wasn't done, yet.

Rachel…such a sweet little piece of ass. And, as much as he liked fucking her, he also liked that she was smart, that she gave him some shit once in a while. So much better than the usual crop of trashy waitresses, barmaids, and whores he usually availed himself of. Much more fun to…corrupt her. He pushed away from the desk, whirled himself around in the chair a few times and gracefully slipped off in mid-spin to head back to the apartment.

It was time to kick things up a notch.

Rachel's fury at the Joker had abated and things were now fairly amicable between them. But she was consumed with worry about Harvey—seeing his face on the television news every night agitated her in a way that she couldn't ignore. She had to talk the Joker into at least letting Harvey know that she was all right.

On cue, he walked in and Rachel set her mind to persuade him. She went up to face him and said flatly, "You have to send Harvey a message. I can't stand to see him suffer like this. It's not fair, he's never even done anything to you."

"Aw, are you feeling sorry for him, sweetie? Would you like to talk to him? I can arrange that, you know." He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and waved it in the air, just out of her reach.

Suspicious of a terrible trick, she hesitated to answer. Finally, she said "Of course I want to talk to him. What's on your mind?"

"Well, what are you willing to do for that opportunity? It's a little outside the parameters of our agreement, you know."

"What do you…_want_ me to do?" she asked gingerly.

He smiled at her in a distinctly unpleasant way.

"Well, there's one thing we haven't done. You know, in bed. Frankly, I was a little reluctant to bring it up, but now that you have some incentive, maybe you'll be more enthusiastic than I thought."

Rachel ran through her fairly limited knowledge of sexual kinks, trying to think of what he could possibly be referring to—then it dawned on her.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, that's disgusting. No way."

The Joker laughed, and said, "Well, then, poor ol' Harvey is just going to continue to twist in the wind, I guess…."

"Jack, you have already thoroughly degraded and debased me, I shouldn't have to do that…that kind of thing… in order to get you to do a favor for me."

He turned to her and that disturbing look of utter disregard for normal thought processes came over his face. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to—and neither do I. I don't happen to want to let you talk to him. It would—disquiet me. Of course, you have the option of negotiating with me. It's your choice."

Negotiate, right. She knew how this would go. She had to find the strength to submit to yet another indignity, yet another assault on her image of who she really was.

Finally-- "Ok, Jack, I'll do it. But I get to talk to Harvey—first."

The Joker nodded. "Acceptable."

He held up the cell phone, with his finger poised over the key board. "Don't try to disclose our location and don't tell him anything about _me_. If you do, the call will be terminated—and you _will_ regret it. Otherwise…have a nice chat." He punched in the number and handed the phone to her.

"Hello?" Harvey's worried voice answered.

"Harvey, it's me! I'm ok."

"My God, Rachel, where are you? What have they done to you?"

"I don't know where I am. But I'm fine, I'm really fine. Are you ok?"

"I'm worried sick, but yeah, I'm ok. Who has you?"

"I…I don't know. I don't know what's going on. I just love you and miss you and I…I want to come home."

At that point, the Joker took the phone out of her hand.

"Ok, look, Harvey, your little bunny is fine, just like I said. But, ah, if you want her to _continue_ to be, you'll have to do what I want."

Harvey tried to control his fury. "And what, exactly, would that be? I'm not a rich man, surely you know that."

The Joker laughed. "I don't want money! I just need some expert legal advice…and you, as Gotham's DA, are just the one to give it to me. You'll be receiving some information in the mail today—I'll call you later for a consultation. Talk to you then!"

He hung up and Rachel stared at him, stricken.

"What the hell are you up to now? That's not what we agreed upon. You said if I stayed here with you, Harvey would be safe and I could go home in six weeks. There was nothing about me being held for ransom. I thought you were a man of your word!!"

"Oh, I am, I am. Now, don't worry, our agreement is intact; in fact, you might get to terminate the contract early, if Harvey plays nice. Wouldn't you like to go home ahead of schedule?"

"I don't understand…"

"I'm going to ask Harvey for a favor, something he is in a unique position to carry out. I will let him know that if he comes through for me, you'll be returned immediately, unharmed. If he doesn't, you won't. Be returned immediately, I mean. According to our agreement, you still have a few more weeks. I just won't mention the "unharmed" part again. Let him draw his own erroneous conclusions."

"You…bastard. What is it you want from him?"

"That's not your concern. Trust me, it's nothing terrible. Just a little favor. Just something…long overdue."

Rachel's mind whirled as she tried to imagine what he could possibly want from Harvey Dent that qualified as "legal advice". She came up with nothing. Then, his voice grated on her ear: "Time for you to fulfill your side of the bargain!"

He pulled her to her feet and forcibly led her, struggling, to the bed. She was making it clear to him that she didn't want to participate in his new activity.

He unzipped her jeans and indicated she should remove them. Then he tugged at her underwear and it slipped down to the floor. He bent her over the bed, and dropped his trousers; then he took a tube of lotion and poured a generous dollop in his hand and applied it to his erection.

"All right, little girl, this won't hurt a bit. Well, ok, it might at first…but I'll be gentle, I promise…just relax, and it will go a_ lot_ easier…"

Rachel had absolutely no confidence in his promise, and was angered and frightened by the thought of being violated in this way. At the last moment, she pleaded with the Joker to let her off the hook—"Please Jack, I don't want to do this!"—never expecting him to do anything but laugh and go ahead. Instead, irritably, he turned her around and looked her in the eye.

"What are you afraid of?" he demanded.

"That you'll hurt me! That…I don't know, this isn't right, it's not…_normal_."

"Oh, don't be so naïve. People do it all the time, don't you ever read "Penthouse Forum"?" he asked in mock-seriousness.

"Jack, I just don't feel right about it…"

"Come on, Rachel, don't be scared," he said teasingly. "Give me a chance. If you want me to stop, just tell me. I _really _don't want to hurt you…I know you don't believe me, but it's true"

"You don't honestly believe I'm going to be able enjoy this, do you?"

"Mmm, maybe not the first time…but how will you know if you don't try it?" He turned her around in his arms and she felt his hardness against her; when he again bent her over, she didn't protest. When he entered her, it did hurt—a sharp, tearing pain, but it lasted only a moment—then, mostly just pressure, an intensity that she wasn't familiar with. He went slowly, asking her if she was ok every so often, and she was surprised to answer "yes".

When he finished, he pulled her onto the bed with him and wrapped her in his arms. "Now, was that so awful?" he murmured into her ear. "I guess it could have been worse…"she answered reluctantly. He gave a grim laugh, and said, "Oh, yes…believe me, it could have been much worse."

"How would you know?" she asked scornfully. He was quiet a minute, then said "Do you know what happens to young boys in juvenile detention centers? Do you know how many times…." He went silent and stared up at the ceiling. She felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. "You were…" He shrugged. "I learned to defend myself. Fists, furniture—any handy weapon. The last guy that tried was left with a broken jaw and ruptured spleen. That was a _good _day…." He grinned and added, "I quickly discovered that knives are even more effective."


	9. Never Saw It Coming

The Joker groaned as he awoke to the sharp rays of the morning sun. His back felt stiff, but he sat up and slipped out of bed. He had a lot to do, and his body wouldn't let him rest anymore.

_Today's the day! Gotta contact good old Harvey, Harvey Dent, what a thrill. Guess I'll kick a couple of drug dealers out of the way and use that pay phone over on Cicero..._

He took a shower, letting the hot water soothe his aching neck and lower back. He thought of last night with Rachel, and smiled. Fun. She was becoming quite the naughty girl…he was breaking through her defenses, teaching her about the possibilities of living a life with no rules, not caring what other people think of you, of what Mom and Dad and the preacher had drummed into you for all those years. Letting go….

But, he'd revealed too much about himself to her—again. What was it about her? She made him want to tell her stuff. _Always a sucker for those sympathetic eyes, aren'tcha? A kind word. Pity-whore. Thought you got over that a long time ago…_

Rachel…what was he going to do without her?

_But I can't keep her. Don't even really want to…_

It had been a very long time since the Joker shared his home and his life with someone else. He knew he wasn't really…cut out, ha ha, for domestic bliss. He didn't like having to talk or listen when someone else needed his attention. He didn't like the distraction, and he didn't like the disappointment. That was the perfect thing about his arrangement with Rachel Dawes—it was entirely on his terms, and he could get rid of her whenever she became tiresome.

That hadn't happened yet—no, in fact things were just getting interesting—but now…too much was going on. He could feel it, something big was about to be unleashed. This Batman character…he was starting to hear the name more often. Soon, it would be time to let Batman hear _his_ name. If he was going to start a new game, he would need to focus his full attention on it. Rachel would slow him down, divert him, make him lazy. He needed to send her home, as he had promised.

After his shower, the Joker dressed and put on the clown makeup. He had begun using it long ago as a kind of sick joke—he wanted to do something special for the first man he was going to kill, and he thought looking like a clown was a nice touch. It had had such a satisfactory effect that he just kept using it. Now, it was second nature.

_Really pinpoints your best features, Jackie-boy. Really brings out your eyes..._ He watched as his ravaged skin disappeared under the chalky white grease paint.

He turned to see if Rachel had stirred—no—and he took a moment to appreciate her in her slumber. _What a cutie-pie. Shame to let her go…but that's the way the cookie crumbles…oh, well, we'll always have Gotham…._

His mouth twisted into a wicked smile and he planted an impetuous kiss on Rachel's cheek, leaving a bright red smudge to greet her when she looked in the mirror.

The Joker drove to the out-of-the-way pay phone. A couple of gang-bangers started to say something to him but quickly changed their minds, seeing the steady stare and confrontational leer on the Joker's painted face.

_Ah, too fuckin' bad. I'm in the mood for a little adrenaline rush. _A couple of homeless men were asleep on the street, and posed no threat. Otherwise, the area was deserted.

The Joker dropped in his money and dialed the number; Harvey's strained voice came on the line right away.

"Dent here."

"Yeah, Harvey, it's me. You know, Rachel's kidnapper? How ya doin'?"

"Would you please just tell me what you want." Harvey's tone was cold but professional.

The Joker smiled. "Ok, well, it's just a little thing—I want you to arrange for a DNA test on one of your prisoners. Name's Rory O'Neal. You should have an info sheet on his case in your mail box by now."

Harvey was thoroughly bewildered—he had expected to be required to procure, what, a helicopter? A tank? Nuclear missiles? But this…this was easy. Just a matter of pulling some strings, an area in which he excelled.

"Is that…it? That's all you want?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, well, the deal is, Rory's serving a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit. I want you to have the DNA compared to the evidence taken at the time of the crime. If it's a match, well, no more need be done.

But, if it's not a match, I want Rory released immediately, no red tape, no legal time-wasting bullshit. And, regardless of the outcome, I'll send Rachel home, unharmed, assuming your test was done correctly, and promptly. And, I will know if it isn't, _trust me._

If you try anything other than following these simple instructions…well, Rachel WON"T be coming home…do you understand?"

Harvey was trying to think of all the possible loopholes that the guy could pull, but his mind was blank. He simply answered "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll take care of it. How do I contact you?"

The Joker laughed. "Don't worry about that, Harv. The call's are on me. Oh, and by the way, you have three days for the test results to come in."

"Three days!! That's not enough time!"

"Aw, come on, Harveee…an important man like you…you can get it done. Hey, _I_ believe in Harvey Dent!"

With that he hung up.

The Joker drove unhurriedly back to his place, taking the time to think undisturbed.

_Rory. Poor old fucker. Never could catch a break…thank God he was around. Thank God he was six feet tall and 240 lbs. at the age of 13…back at the foster home…._

Young Jack's skinny frame was taking a brutal beating at the hands of a gang of thugs from the high school. His raw scars and his story—crazy jail-bird father, dead mother—had already made him a target of verbal abuse at his middle school. Now, apparently, his sad notoriety made him a tempting diversion for the bigger, older kids as well. And, of course, he could never keep his mouth shut—he just made things worse.

They never saw it coming…the Joker grinned at the memory. He was on the ground, peering through a rapidly swelling eye, when Rory came out of nowhere, wielding a bicycle chain that clipped the ring leader right across the face. The other three assailants tried to take him on, but he shook them off like rag dolls, and bashed them each in turn, with the chain or just his fists, as needed. After the yelping, bloodied gang took off, he had helped Jack to his feet.

"You ok, man?"

Jack was barely able to talk through his split lip, but he nodded.

"Let's go home, man. They won't be bothering you again."

_Poor bastard. If he'd had more brains, less heart…maybe he'd of done ok._

Jack had discovered Rory could barely read, so he patiently began tutoring him, making the combinations of letters come alive for the slower boy. Rory was a sucker for every hard luck story that came along—at first, Jack found him incredibly easy to manipulate out of anything he had—which wasn't much—but Jack ended up protectively trying to teach Rory to identify the users from the real victims in the world; Rory never quite caught onto the difference.

_Whatever happened, she probably had it coming…but Rory didn't do it. No…he couldn't_.

The last time Jack saw Rory was seven years ago. Rory was in jail, awaiting trial for a rape/murder of a convenience store clerk. Rory tearfully explained to Jack that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time; the cops had it in for him, the DA was trying to make a name for himself, and the court-appointed attorney he'd been assigned was usually too drunk to be effective.

_Talk about a victim…he never had a chance…._

Jack had always hoped to find a way to get Rory his day in court, to prove his innocence. The big guy wasn't a killer. He wasn't like Jack. He wasn't…hard-edged.

The Joker gripped the steering wheel tighter and found he had to concentrate extra hard to keep from ramming the vehicle into pedestrians and parked cars. Sometimes, his emotions got mixed up; his excitement at finally being able to help Rory was confused with his rage at the corrupt system that put him where he was.

_Nothing a little Lithium won't cure…._

No…no…_no_. No, he wouldn't do meds again. Too much…too much lost. Dulling. He couldn't feel anything when he was medicated. Even anger.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he arrived at his home and could go upstairs, to Rachel.


	10. Freak

The Joker sauntered into the room, taking off his gloves. "Hel_lo_, sexy girl," he purred, his voice smooth as silk. Rachel was preparing lunch, busily chopping up veggies for a salad. She didn't acknowledge him other than to pointedly roll her eyes at his endearment.

He slipped his arms under hers from behind, and squeezed her tightly. He buried his face in her neck and gently bit down on the bare skin at the base, working his way up to her ear.

She tried to ignore him, but finally warned "You're not going to get any lunch if you keep that up."

"Mmm, that's ok…"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Ha, not for lunch…"

"Now, behave yourself!! _I'm_ starving…" Rachel playfully brandished the knife in Jack's direction. He deftly took it from her hand and brought it up flat against her throat for just a moment, waiting to see if she would gasp in fear. But she just made a sound of long-suffering aggravation. He started laughing, and, arms still around her, chin resting on her shoulder, began expertly slicing the cucumber, then the tomato, for their meal.

Rachel watched his hands, the bones and tendons working together in a sensuous dance as he manipulated the knife in and out of the firm flesh of the food. She lightly placed her own delicate hands on his, amazed at his dexterity and speed.

"You could have been a chef."

"Yeah, you want _me_ in charge of the public's food…" He finished the task, put down the knife, and reached into his pocket. He dropped a small object down Rachel's blouse.

"Jack! What the…?"

Rachel fished the thing out of her bra and saw it was a small plastic circus bear, the kind that comes in a bag of animals from the dollar store. "Ah, for my collection…uh, thanks." she said. She was always bewildered by his gifts….

Somewhere along the way, the Joker had taken to bringing her odd little toys, mostly just cheap plastic such as might be included in a child's meal (did he actually buy the meals, or did he rip off some kid, she had wondered). Some were little animals, a horse, an elephant, a lion. Once, he brought her a lovely, delicate hand-painted ceramic figure, a ballerina in pirouette, and later, a clown. She thought they were probably expensive, if he actually paid for them. She kept the objects on the dresser by the bed and often pondered what they meant, if anything.

The Joker turned Rachel to face him. "Com'ere". He took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply, and she couldn't help but return his passion. He grasped her hands and started to lead her to the bed, but she protested "What about lunch?" "It'll keep," he answered impatiently, pulling her along. "Jack, stop it! It's the middle of the day! Can't you at least wait until after we eat?" She was laughing, trying hard to wrestle away from him. He was too strong, but he repeatedly let her just almost get away, pulling her back to him at the last moment, until they were both laughing and struggling by the bed.

"Ok, little lady, you have cleverly managed to wear me out. I give up." He threw himself on the bed in mock defeat, and after a moment, Rachel lay down next to him. She poked at him, as if to see if he was still alive. He pretended not to be, making her sit up on one elbow to look at him. He opened an eye and peered at her. "Flirt." he said accusingly. She grinned, and suddenly he grabbed her and pulled her on top of him. She shrieked, but once there, she kissed him.

He looked up at her, ran his hand along her face, and said quietly "How does it feel, kissing a freak?"

She was taken aback and searched his painted face for a clue—was he angry? What did he want her to say?

"I…I don't know…kind of weird, I guess…I haven't really thought about it…"

"Tell me, princess, if I was a…normal kind of guy…a mechanic…or…a lawyer…would you ever give me the time of day? Hmm?"

Rachel was getting a creepy feeling…where was this going?

"Jack, that's not fair. Who knows what would happen if things were different?"

"Ah, come on Rachel. A girl like you'd never look at me twice…you'd never want to be seen in public with a guy like me."

"What, a criminal? No, you're right. I wouldn't."

"I'm talking about this face…these scars. You'd never look past them..."

"Jack…I don't even know what to say to that. Maybe you're right. I hope not. I hope I'm not that shallow."

He was silent for a moment, then "If I didn't look like this…would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Be with me. Let's say Harvey wasn't around…"

"Jack…" This was taking a very bad turn.

"No, really, I'm not threatening him or anything. Just a hypothetical question. Would you?"

"I don't think…I don't think I've seen your best side, Jack. I should hate you; but I can't help but like you sometimes. I like the guy that makes me laugh, and takes me up on the roof to see the city at night. But I hate what you've done—you've killed people—I hate… the Joker." She said that name softly, as if it were a forbidden word.

The Joker pursed his lips and nodded. _No surprises, there_. _At least she's got the balls to be honest._

He pushed her off of him, swung his legs off the bed and began removing his jacket and shirt. "Take off your clothes." he ordered flatly. She sensed a mood shift, from good-humored to distant, realized there was now something…unsettled about him.

He got on top of her, not bothering to take off his trousers, and unceremoniously entered her, hard. He didn't seem to expect anything from her, other than that she lie submissively underneath him.

His need for her seemed to go on a long time, and she was getting tired. It irritated Rachel when he was like this—disconnected, almost mechanical—she felt like she could just as easily be an anonymous whore, or a vinyl blow-up doll, as far as he was concerned.

She saw on his face a look of frustration. Sometimes he seemed to have a difficult time finishing, and he usually asked for some kind of pain, her teeth, or nails down his back, and that would take care of the problem. She didn't dare to take the initiative, but she wasn't surprised when he whispered "Bite me. Hard."

She lifted her head up, buried her face in his neck, and gave him a sharp nip; he smelled like fresh sweat, and the outdoors. He moaned approvingly, then ordered, "Use your nails." She ran her fingernails down his back and he said "Harder." She did it again, applying more pressure, digging them in at his waist, when suddenly he reared back, raised his hand as if to strike her, and hissed "Dammit, bring blood or _I will_…"

Rachel was frightened by his sudden fury, but it had the desired effect. She unthinkingly dragged her nails down his back, harder than she had ever done, felt the flesh shredding, leaving some under her nails, a violent act she would never have initiated herself.

"Again" the Joker ordered harshly, and she complied. She didn't like the way this was making her feel, but he resumed his thrusting, and she was profoundly relieved when he finally groaned in orgasm. He lowered himself onto her, wearily allowing her to take his full weight, and became still. His breath was coming in short gasps; he rolled off of her onto his back for a few moments, then turned on his side, away from her.

Rachel sat up and could see the raised welts she had left, terminating in little rivulets of blood. She couldn't stand the way her hands felt and she got up to wash them; afterward, she collected hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, antibiotic cream, and bandages from his well-stocked first aid supply, and returned to the bed.

She began tending to the wounds she had inflicted, and he shifted irritably—"Leave them." he ordered.

"No," she refused. "They could get infected. Just lie still."

She cleaned the wounds and applied the cream, and then a bandage. He lay quietly, accepting her ministrations without further protest.

She dressed, put away the supplies, and silently finished making lunch.


	11. A Better Man

The next day, a handcuffed man with blood and bruises on his face was dragged in for an audience with his boss. The Joker indicated that he was to be secured to a straight back chair that was awaiting his arrival. He listened to the man vainly pleading to be let go.

The Joker was in full regalia, his long purple coat giving his slim body the appearance of greater substance. He shook his head slowly, and hovered over the man, his leather-gloved hands behind his back, holding a long dagger. A steely look was in his eyes, and he held his lower lip between his teeth as if to contain his disapproval. He resembled a school principle confronted with a misbehaving youth.

"So, Bailey…tell me again how Maroni found out?" the Joker asked, his voice seemingly full of concern for his errant employee.

"I...I don't know boss, I swear!"

"You swear? Really? That's not polite. But never mind, let's review—you were the _only _guy who knew when the shipment was due to arrive and yet Maroni's men ALSO seemed to know. That just seems damned curious to me…"

"Well…boss, I thought you said I should call the dock guy ahead of time…"

The Joker stopped dead in his feline pacing and came around to bend down and look the unfortunate man in the eyes.

"_I_ did? _Me?_ Well…I must have been on crack. And drunk. And hallucinating. Because I SWEAR I don't remember ever saying anything like that. Do you think I was on crack, Bailey?" He held the sharp blade of the dagger upright between the man's eyes, and pressed the tip into the flesh above the bridge of his nose.

"No!" he yelped. "No sir, no, you don't do drugs, boss. I musta misunderstood!"

The Joker knelt in front of the man, rubbing his scarred lips with the back of his gloved hand as though giving weight to that suggestion.

"Misunderstood, huh? Oh…as in a…communication problem between you and me? Is that what you're saying? I need to improve my communication skills?"

"No, no, boss, just me, just me, I made a mistake…"

"Yes, yes, _now_ I think you're on the right track…I think YOU made a mistake, and it wasn't a _misunderstanding_. I…think…YOU…have been playing for the wrong team, Bailey. I think YOU have been muddying the waters…YOU have been a double agent…that's ok in the movies…but not so good when you work for ME. Do you like the movies, Bailey?"

The man was now beyond terrified.

"Yeah, sure boss, I like the movies."

"Yeah? How about cop films, you like cop films?"

"Sure…"

"How about _Reservoir Dogs_, did you see that one?"

"Yeah, boss, I saw it…"

"Sure you did…did you like the part with the Steeler's Wheel song?"

"Huh?"

"You know, "Stuck in the Middle With You"? Remember that part?"

"Where they cut the guy's ear off?"

"Yeah…" the Joker said softly, now running the blade's tip along the man's hairline just over the ear.

"Please boss, I just made a mistake. It won't happen ever again, I swear!"

(Shaking his head pityingly) "Swearing again. I don't think you were raised right, Bailey. That's ok, though. Your manners are the least of your faults. I'm going to correct the big one…right…now. Your cheatin' _heart_."

With that the Joker stood and rammed the dagger straight into the man's heart, stepping adroitly aside to avoid any blood spatter. He and his other two men watched the last bit of Bailey's life shudder out of him, and the Joker retrieved his knife, wiping it down with a cloth.

"Clean this up." he ordered, and turned on his heel.

Rachel was sitting on the couch with the TV on, impatiently waiting for the Joker to come home. She could no longer pretend that she didn't miss him when he was gone and had even given up feeling guilty for being glad to see him when he walked through the door. Tonight, she had finally faced her last demon—she had admitted to herself that she wanted him.

Rachel felt as if she would explode if the Joker didn't come home and make love to her; desire burned inside her and she couldn't stop thinking about him. Harvey—always in the back of her mind—seemed like a memory from another world that she no longer had occasion to visit. That she loved Harvey was not a question. Did she love Jack? No. She couldn't. The Joker had taken everything she knew and understood about right and wrong, good and bad, love and hate, and casually crumpled it up in his beautiful hands like useless scraps of paper. He was a madman that, she had no doubt, would brutalize her, terrorize her, even kill her, if it suited his whims.

But…he had shown her another side of himself, a gentle, affectionate man who made her laugh, who shared with her a love of their city, even while acknowledging its many faults. The Joker had a kind of internal power, not just physical strength, but intelligence and overriding confidence, fearlessness—perhaps rooted in madness, perhaps not—that compelled her to respect him as well as fear his unpredictability.

And, yes, she couldn't deny it, he was a handsome, beautiful man. Even with his deranged clown makeup on, even with the deep scars that marked his face, she couldn't help desiring him. Now she was finally able to face the fact that she wanted him, plain and simple, and he wasn't there.

She heard the lock on the door turning….

The Joker was hungry. His white-hot fury had been satisfied--problem solved--and now he was feeling fine. Things were back on track. He still needed to call Maroni, to let him know he had caught on to his game. But for now, he wondered if any of the chicken Rachel had made the night before was left. He headed straight for the refrigerator and began poking around for a snack.

"Hi, gorgeous. What's on the tube?"

"Not much. Apparently, I still haven't been rescued." she said dryly.

Amused, he took off his coat and gloves, and came to sit next to her with his plate of cold leftovers, which he started in on hungrily. Rachel moved closer to him, watching him intently. He became aware of her interest, frowned, and, mouth full, asked "What do _you_ want?" as if she was a small child he suspected of begging for ice cream money.

"I…I've been waiting for you." she answered simply. Her voice was huskier than usual, her eyes soft, and she had a seductive half-smile on her face. Jack picked up on her arousal and gave her a "What the fuck?" look. She braced for him to mock and humiliate her, but he just stared, curious.

He swallowed, cleared his throat, and put down his plate.

"Now, let me get this straight. You've been waiting for me…and you're _horny_?" he asked, sounding amazed. Rachel nodded. He shook his head in amusement, and tilted her face up to him.

"Look at me. What's this all about?"

"Nothing. It is…what it is. I…want to go to bed with you, that's all."

"You're kidding."

"No, Jack, damn it, why do you have to make a big thing out of this? It's hard enough for me as it is."

"Well, no it's not, but give me a minute…"

"Jack!"

"Hold on…" He stood up and shambled over to the closet, and rummaged around, returning with a gold and silver shopping bag from one of the most expensive department stores in Gotham. He handed it to her. She hesitantly pulled out the tissue paper and found a delicate silk and lace night gown, black, in her size. She looked up at him questioningly.

"I got that for you some time ago, hoping the right, um, occasion would come along for you to wear it. I think this may be it…." He sat next to her and put his arms around her, kissing her deeply. "Listen, doll, I have to make a phone call, but in the meantime, you put this on—and nothing else—and I'll be back in just a little while. Ok?"

"Ok, Jack." She couldn't believe he was leaving again, but couldn't wait for him to come back.

The Joker headed to his office, still amused at Rachel's ardor. Getting serious, he picked up one of a number of cell phones and dialed Maroni's personal number.

"Hallo?"

"Salvatore, how ya doin'?"

"Joker, haven't heard your melodious voice in a while. Where ya been?"

"Aw, you know me, Sal, I like to keep busy. I was just wondering, have you been missing anything?"

"Missing…anything?" Sal took a quick mental rundown on the whereabouts of his family and mistress; even he found the Joker too disturbing to dismiss.

"Uh, no, no. Don't think so. Should I be?"

"Well, your little friend Bailey showed his true colors to me today. So don't look for him to show up at any more of your, uh, board meetings, Sal. He won't be…participating."

"Oh…I see. Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, huh?"

"No, Sal, I don't blame _you_. I _know_ what you are. It's just…disappointing, don't you think? When an employee turns on you like that? Now my workforce is down by one, you know how difficult that is."

"Yeah, I do. Sorry, man. I hate to say it, but we pay a little better than you."

The Joker laughed. "Yeah, and much better retirement benefits, too. Maybe I should come work for you, huh?"

The thought sent a creepy chill through the old mobster. "Yeah, well, let's keep our options open. Good to hear from you, Joker."

"Yeah, Sal, we need to keep in touch." He flipped the phone shut and grinned. This was turning into quite the exciting day; getting rid of a rat, giving Maroni a little hell, and now, he apparently had Rachel all hot and bothered. He shook his head in pleased disbelief, and ambled back to his apartment.

Rachel had undressed and put on the gown. It looked stunning on her, a perfect fit, hugging her full breasts and slender hips, and she couldn't believe the way silk on bare skin felt. She had never owned a single piece of lingerie this nice. Just then, the Joker returned.

He let out a low wolf whistle. She turned in excitement and waited for him to walk up to her, but she really wanted to run and throw herself into his arms. He hugged her close and murmured "You are so damn fuckable, what am I going to do with you?" "I think you answered your own question" she answered, giggling. He ran his hands down over her bottom, and suddenly pulled away from her.

The Joker led her over to the bed, where they both sat down. He took her in his arms, and said in her ear, "Rachel. Last night you gave me a great gift—the pleasure of pain. I asked you for it and you did what I asked. Would you like me to return the favor?"

Rachel was utterly confused. She pulled away and looked at him. "What in the world are you talking about, Jack? _I'm_ not into pain."

"Well, maybe you've never had it presented to you correctly. Let's play a little game, ok?"

"What kind of game?"

"Oh, I don't know, call it naughty school girl and teacher, naughty house maid and lord of the manor, whatever you want. Have you ever been spanked?"

"No! Are you crazy?"

"Look, just go along with me, ok?"

"Well…ok," she said doubtfully.

"Why, Miss Dawes, I do believe you have disobeyed me." he said sternly, giving her a look of deep disapproval.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I did tell you to be wearing the gown, only, and nothing else, didn't I?"

"Oh! Well, yes…"

"So, what are these?" he asked, indicating the underwear that she hadn't gotten around to removing.

"Jack, don't be silly, I just didn't get around to taking them off!"

"Well, take them off right now. And prepare to be…punished."

Rachel suddenly got it. Feeling extremely naughty and excited, she stood up and removed her panties. Jack then took her across his lap, pulled her nightgown up to her waist, and began spanking her creamy cheeks until they glowed a deep shade of rose. Rachel began squealing in protest, but the strokes from his open hand actually stung deliciously, and before she realized what was happening, she felt a rush of pleasure and deep desire that was completely new to her.

As her protests became cries of delight, the Joker began laughing; he let her up and unzipped his trousers, then had her straddle his lap. He guided himself into her, pleased at how wet she had become, and let her work her hips hard against him as he held tightly to her waist, his face buried in her neck. Suddenly, he picked her up, still inside of her, and carefully laid her down on the bed. He began thrusting powerfully into her, and Rachel's need for his body was completely fulfilled. After he came, they lay in a happy, satisfied tangle.

"Jack, that was…incredible."

"I told you, pain can be a lot of fun…"

"Well, with limits—serious limits."

"Yeah, I think you have stricter limits than I do…"

"Yes, just try and remember that."

He was quiet for a moment, then said "You talk like we're going to be together for a long time. We're not, sweetheart. You know that."

Jack's words were a cold hit of reality; she found herself feeling a wrench of sorrow in the pit of her stomach at the thought of being away from him. Of course, he was right. There was no way she could stay with him. Even if Harvey wasn't in the picture, she would never give up her job—her friends—the life she had built. And, there was no place for a man like the Joker in that life, not anywhere. Whatever it was she was feeling for him would have to die, even if she had to kill it.

They eventually disentangled themselves, got dressed, and the Joker settled himself on the couch with the daily paper, while Rachel began tidying up. She picked up the Joker's overcoat, and his purple leather gloves fell to the floor. They appeared to have dark stains on them and when she picked them up, she noticed they felt…wet. There was an odd smell about them, reminding her of copper. She rubbed one and her finger came away with a brownish-red stain. She felt a sudden shudder of horror.

"Jack--is this…blood?"

"Huh?" He looked up from the paper. "Yeah, I believe it is."

"_What did you do_?"

"Nothing that concerns you, sweetie." He spoke casually, but she knew there were not going to be any follow up questions allowed. Her stomach churned and she felt the urge to run blindly out of the room, but there was nowhere to go.

She brought the gloves to him. "Tell me what happened…"

He narrowed his eyes at her and set his mouth in a sardonic grin.

"I took care of a problem, that's all."

"Jack, tell me the truth…did you…"

The Joker continued to stare into her eyes. Neither broke their gaze, and finally he said:

"What, exactly, is it you think I do when we're not together, sweetheart? Coach Little League? Organize neighborhood cleanup programs?"

"I guess I just try not to think about it! But, Jack, you can't just go around murdering innocent people!"

He abruptly stood up to face her. He looked her squarely in the eye.

"I don't think I've EVER killed anyone…_innocent_. Not yet, anyway."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, _you're_ definitely getting on my nerves at the moment. But, my point is, I don't have the luxury of calling the cops when a crime is committed against me, so…I take care of it. Permanently. I find it's better than leaving, uh, loose ends around."

"How can you take a life?" she asked helplessly.

"How can you send innocent 18-year-old men off to prison for life?"

"That's different—they've been through the justice system, had a fair trial. If they were innocent, they wouldn't be going to prison."

"Well, you tell a lot of nice fairy tales, princess. I bet you think I believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, too."

"Damn it, Jack!! I can't stay in the same house with a murderer!!"

"Well, you have been, what's so different now?" he asked reasonably.

Rachel knew she was up against the psychopathic part of the man's mind and that there was no use arguing with him. She felt just slightly better having heard his skewed explanation, with the veiled assurance that whoever had been dispatched was probably a criminal, himself. She slowly sat down. "Put those away, will you?" she said weakly, indicating the gloves.

The Joker took a seat next to her, and pulled her face around so she would look at him. When he spoke, his voice was ragged and deep.

"I'm sorry you hate me so much, Rachel. I wish I could be…better. The kind of man you want. But I can't. I do what I have to do, to survive. There's only so much time…" He laughed ruefully. "I'm like a shark…I have to keep moving or I…I die. And, I'm not ready for that, not just yet."

Rachel tried to understand him. She had only the vaguest comprehension of his criminal activities, but she imagined the mob was involved one way or another. She knew enough about their workings to realize that, whether he was working for them or against them, he probably didn't have a lot of leeway when he got into trouble.

"All right, Jack. I guess…I guess I can accept that. Obviously, I can't do anything to change it."

He put his arms around her and after a moment's indecision, she melted against him. She couldn't hate him, and she couldn't love him, either. All she could do was feel the warmth of his body against her and try not to lose what was left of her mind.


	12. I'll See You Again

The following morning, the morning of Harvey Dent's deadline, the Joker woke early. He lay quietly, thinking. _Today is the day. Good ol'Harvey, will you come through for me?_ He turned on his side to look at Rachel, still sleeping soundly next to him.

_She really is beautiful. Maybe Harv'll screw up and I can keep her a few more weeks…naw, that wouldn't be good, not for either of us. Shouldn't hope for that…_

He reached for Rachel, and she sleepily murmured "Good morning". "Oh, not yet it isn't," he laughed, and he gently kissed her and began caressing her. First her breasts, then going lower, running his fingertips along the slender line of her abdomen, down between her thighs, teasing her into waking up enough to begin kissing him back. She eagerly parted her legs for him and he moved to get on top. She refused to open her eyes, allowing the growing sensation of pleasure and excitement to replace the delicious dream-state of sleep that she had been in.

Just when they were done, a knock came at the door. They both froze—no one EVER knocked; if there was a reason to enter that apartment, the Joker had it scheduled and organized down to the minute. His face took on a hard look, and he pulled on his jeans, grabbed a shirt and a knife, and strode to the door, checking the surveillance camera. He then stepped outside.

Rachel had no clue as to what could be going on; he was gone for a long time. She stayed in bed, trying to stay calm, trying to concentrate on the pleasure her unpredictable lover had just given her, when he quietly came back in. He closed the door and stood there for a moment with his head down, apparently organizing his thoughts.

"Jack…what's the matter?" Rachel asked.

"Get dressed. And packed. I just talked to Harvey.You're going home." His voice had a tight quality that she didn't recognize. It was an emotion he'd never shown her, not even when talking about his mother's death. He seemed—sad.

"What?? Right now?"

"Yes, _now_. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up." Suddenly energized, he turned and headed into the dressing area, and she saw he was applying his makeup and getting ready to don his purple suit.

Rachel hastily jumped out of bed and got dressed. She grabbed her overnight bag and began pulling her clothes off of hangers. She then turned to the dresser, where she emptied her clothes from the drawer. She found the beautiful night gown slung across the iron headboard where the Joker had flung it when he pulled it off of her. She smoothed it out and folded it, and slipped it in with the rest of her clothes; she'd worry about explaining it to Harvey later.

She was about to turn away when her eye caught the toys…she hesitated, then carefully wrapped the clown and the ballerina each in a layer of clothing to protect them and set them carefully in the bag. She then threw in the plastic ones haphazardly, and zipped the bag closed.

By then, the Joker was ready and he had an ominous air of purpose about him. She didn't like the expression on his painted face; and, she felt a twinge of disappointment to think that the last memories she would have of him would be with his handsome features obscured by the clown makeup.

Silently, he indicated she was to leave the room, and he took her down in the elevator, to his car, and they got in and drove away.

After a few minutes, Rachel timidly asked, "So Harvey must have come through?"

"Oh, yes. He did indeed." The Joker answered grimly.

"Then why are you so upset?"

The Joker gave her a look that combined disgust and despair. He was silent for a long moment; then the story of his old friend Rory began to spill out. He told her how he had hoped to rescue Rory from his unjust fate; how he had hoped he could provide him with a safe home, and a future that didn't include prison or poverty; how he wanted to repay him for being one of the few "good people", as Rachel had referred to them, that he had met in his life. He told her about the DNA test that Harvey had procured in exchange for Rachel's safe return.

"So, what happened?" she asked, worriedly. People in the Joker's life didn't seem to end up in very healthy conditions.

"The test…proved he was guilty." the Joker said flatly. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "The one time I believe the best of somebody, and they prove me wrong. Just goes to show you—everything I've been telling you is true. This world is one big rotten apple. There's no hope."

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry…" she said softly. He kept his eye on the road but she could feel the tension of him holding in his emotions.

"Here we are." He suddenly sounded more upbeat. He pointed to a waiting cab on the side of the road.

"There's your ride. It's already been paid for. Tell him where you want to go—I assume Harvey's place, but you can go anywhere you want. Go ahead, there's no trick to it."

She could hardly believe it. Freedom? He was actually going to let her go, just like that?

She looked at him, unable to make her limbs work, and he met her gaze with his dark, black-ringed eyes. Suddenly, his face took on a deep grin, and gave her a playful push. "What, do I have to drag you out of here? Don't tell me you want to go back and play with me some more! 'Cause, I'm a busy man, you know! Work, work, work, no time for games now…." He said it teasingly, but she thought she detected a bit of wistfulness in his voice.

"I'm going. I just wanted to say 'thank you'…for keeping your end of the bargain."

"Yeah, well, it was a pleasure doing business with you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again very soon…"

She felt a pang of apprehension, and he laughed gleefully at her reaction.

"I mean across the interrogation table, or maybe on my way to Arkham. I'm sure you'll have a hand in that, Miss Dist-rict Attor-ney. Now, get going, I have…things to do." He said it wickedly, just to mess with her, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Jack, please try to be good. I wish you _would_ check yourself into Arkham, they could help you… with the right medications and therapy, you could live a normal life…." She knew how ridiculous her advice sounded. A man like the Joker wasn't fated for a normal life, no matter how many psychotropic drugs there were in the world.

His lip tugged upward in a wry grin, and he said in a low voice, "It's much too late for that, beautiful. Anyway, if I ever decide to change my life, it'll be done with a nice, sharp razor, right about _here_…" The Joker tapped the side of his neck. "I'm a good citizen, I just want to save the people of Gotham a ton of tax money…in the meantime, you'll be hearing from me, you all will. It'll be a great…surprise."

He put his hand on her shoulder and applied steady pressure, urging her out of the car. Rachel stared at him, needing to…what? What could she do? What was there to say? She finally leaned slightly toward him; he leaned into her, placing his hand behind her head, holding her tightly against him, and they kissed, just for a moment. Then, the Joker pulled away, and with a crooked smile, wiped away the red greasepaint that he'd left on her mouth and cheek, and said quietly "You need to go now."

Rachel felt her heart break then, and she gave up and stepped out of the car. As soon as she was clear, he sped off without a backward glance. She watched the car disappear, fighting off tears, and headed to the cab. She gave the driver Harvey's address.

The cab delivered her to Harvey's place, safe and sound. A line of cop cars surrounded his apartment building, lights flashing, and the bewildered cab driver was immediately accosted for interrogation; Rachel heard him protesting "I never saw the guy!" as he was led away. "Hope Jack tipped him well," she thought. Just then, Harvey ran up to her.

Rachel fell into his arms and he gathered her up like a child, kissing her and saying her name again and again. The police matron gave them a few minutes, but then insisted on ushering Rachel into a police car to take her immediately to the hospital. She quickly thrust her overnight bag into Harvey's hands before they had a chance to take it away from her.

At the hospital, they took her clothes for evidence, dressed her in a hospital gown, and began doing a number of tests, including a rape kit. She submitted to it, knowing she had no choice, knowing what they would find, what would end up in the report. In the next room, she could hear the doctor dictating to the nurse as she filled in the chart: "Vaginal bruising, evidence of sodomy, bite marks on her shoulder, faded ligature marks on both wrists. There's fresh semen inside her. All evidence of repeated, violent rape." She didn't want Harvey to have access to that report, but she knew he would.

She would, of course, never tell him the truth; she'd have to let him picture her suffering unspeakable acts at the hands of her supposed kidnapper. Images he would have burned in his mind for life. She wouldn't wish that on anyone, but there was no help for it. If she admitted that the majority of her sexual adventures with the Joker were not just voluntary, but incredibly welcome, she would have to tell him about their deal. And she knew there was no way any self-respecting man would accept the idea that the woman he loved had sacrificed herself in that way just to save him. No matter how strong their love was, it couldn't survive that reality, not for long. And she had been through too much to take a chance on losing Harvey now.

That night, Harvey took her to his home and made them dinner. Harvey was quiet, just happy to have her home. Rachel had nothing to say. They tried watching TV, but the news was full of Rachel's return. And a sketch-artist picture of the man known as The Joker, with full clown makeup, was regularly splashed across the screen. Every time she saw it, Rachel felt a catch in her throat. Harvey assumed the image reminded her of her ordeal, and he turned off the TV.

Rachel had asked Jack what he wanted her to tell the police, and he said she could say anything she wanted, including the truth. As far as he was concerned, she could give them his exact address, with zip code—he wouldn't be there anymore. Later, a report came across the news crawl of an old warehouse building on the East side mysteriously blowing up—no injuries reported—and Rachel couldn't help but laugh. He probably had a good time setting thatcharge. Good luck to the cops, trying to track _him_ down, she thought.

Harvey made a bed for himself on the living room couch, and insisted that Rachel take the bedroom. Clearly, he had indeed gotten a hold of the medical report, and was being as sensitive as possible to Rachel's "trauma". One of the doctors had recommended to both of them that they seek counseling immediately to help overcome the post-traumatic stress that Rachel was likely to suffer.

Ha, she had thought. In so many ways, Jack was right—they'd only prescribe some mind-altering drug that would kill off her ability to feel anything and call it good. No, she would work through it on her own. After all, as Jack had frequently pointed out, it was her own choice—her decision—to be with him. Her greater concern was pulling off the role of victim in front of Harvey.

Weeks passed by; Rachel eventually went back to work. She finally announced to Harvey that she was ready to move back to her own apartment. He had argued vehemently—_Why?_ he wanted to know—and she told him she had to reclaim her normal life before she could rebuild one with him. It sounded good, and he finally gave in, with the assurance that she would continue to utilize a police escort to and from work, and keep a guard at her door whenever she was at home.

Her explanation was true enough—she really was in a recovery phase, she knew—just not the way Harvey assumed. It was days before she quit listening for Jack's steps, and, waking in the night, she still found herself reaching over to see if he was in the bed with her. She discovered she now had a hard time falling asleep without sex—and she knew she couldn't in good conscience seduce poor Harvey while he was so heroically sleeping on the couch every night, in deference to her supposed delicate mental state. Touching herself, she thought of Jack. She missed him taking her, sometimes roughly, sometimes gently—either way, he knew how to bring her to a place of crazy pleasure, and then, contentment.

She missed his smell, and the way, just every once in a while, she could make him laugh. That was always a great accomplishment, and she grinned to herself thinking of it. And she would always remember his face, even under the garish makeup, when he told her about his disappointment in his old friend. She knew that she had seen the last of something die within him, and it made her sad.

Rachel knew Jack would have rejected her pity; but even so, she felt sorry for the innocent boy he had once been. She imagined him, a slight figure with blonde hair and huge dark eyes, bewildered by the violence of a parent whose job it should have been to protect him. She felt sorry for the damaged young man forced onto a nightmare path by abuse and neglect, with no one in his life to help and comfort him. And she knew he would have sneered at her for fearing for him—the man he was today—living a life destined for destruction, one way or another. She remembered his words—"across the interrogation table, or on my way to Arkham"—and as reports of crimes mentioning a single "Joker" playing card left at the scene continued to mount up, she knew that day probably wasn't very far away.


	13. Goodbye

**A/N:**** Well, here we are--the last chapter. I have so enjoyed writing this and I am so SAD for it to end. I really hope you enjoyed reading it! I love your reviews and I think I have an idea for a follow-up story, so let me know if you would like to see that. **

**Thank you again to everyone that has reviewed and to you all for reading!!**

**Reene**

On moving day, Rachel packed her things, kissed a dour Harvey goodbye, and was driven to her own apartment by a police officer, who escorted her up the stairs and into her own home. He went through each room, checking closets and under the bed, and gave her the "all clear" sign, as he went to assume his post outside her front door.

Rachel eagerly went to her stereo—_her _stereo—and turned on the radio. Harvey had very specific musical tastes, and raucous rock and roll wasn't one of them; she felt the powerful bass line of The Rolling Stones' "_Jumping Jack Flash_" wash over her, and she closed her eyes and nodded her head gratefully.

Turning to survey her home, Rachel's eyes swept the room—she had been worried about her fish, but they were apparently fine. Someone—who?—had been feeding them. Suddenly, her heart jumped in her throat as she noticed a small bowl containing two colorful fish and a castle sitting on the shelf by the large aquarium.

"Bud and Lou!!" she cried out. Jack had named them after two of his favorite old-time radio comics. There was a note, written in familiar block letters. Her hands shook as she read:

"Hi, Gorgeous—

Welcome home—I had to bring your fish— I can no longer be responsible for their emotional health—I am _not_ the nurturing type—they miss you.

Me, too.

Love,

J."

"Oh, Jack…" she said miserably, a catch in her throat.

Mick Jagger growled the compelling lyrics in the background:

"_I was born… in a cross-fire hurricane…"_

"Yeah, uh, hiiii…." The Joker was, of course, slouching against the doorway of her living room, fists jammed into his pants pockets, no makeup. His blonde hair, back-lit by the sun from her bedroom window, framed his face like a demented angel's halo, and a sheepish smile was twisted into his scarred lips.

She turned and started laughing. "You jerk, how did you get in here?"

"You keep asking me that—I told you, complain to maintenance! This place must be a hundred years old, you couldn't keep a five year old out."

She ran up to him and hugged him. He put his arms around her and held her close. "I didn't think you'd really want to see me…" he murmured into her hair.

"I _don't_—but now that you're here, well, I guess I don't mind too much." She looked up at him and thought it was funny that she felt no fear at all, just a child-like sense of excitement. Like he had come for a play date. The stupidity of that thought hit her and she pulled away, serious now.

"Jack, why are you here?"

"_I was schooled…wi__th a strap right across my back…"_

He shrugged. "Well, I didn't really get to say goodbye properly. And, things are going to get interesting in this old town very soon. I thought…I thought it might be my last chance to…to tell you that I'm sorry…for everything." She stared into his eyes and saw that they were clear and—well, _sane_—in a way she had only occasionally glimpsed during her time in his home.

"Jack, what's going to happen? What have you done?"

He just smiled and said "I'd do my banking on line for the next few weeks, if I were you."

"Oh, God…Jack…"

"_I was drowned…__ I was washed up and left for dead…"_

"Look, don't worry about that stuff, tell me all about you and Harvey. Any wedding plans yet? Listen, send me an invitation…I bet I could get a day pass from Arkham for such a special occasion!"

"Oh, shut up. We're not getting married, at least not anytime soon." She stared at him, wishing she had the courage to bury her face in his neck and inhale his scent…. "I have to get over you, first…"she said, barely audibly.

His eyes narrowed, he shook his head reproachfully, and bit his lower lip in a "you're bad!" gesture.

"Me!! Now, that's just ridiculous. I'm the bad guy—you're supposed to be all angry and call-the-police-ish…I mean, what the hell, you're crazier than I am!"

"_I was crowned… with a spike right thru my head…"_

She accepted his veiled challenge and put her arms around his neck and kissed him eagerly; he opened his mouth and let her slide her tongue inside, then returned the favor. The Joker placed one hand firmly on her bottom and pressed her against him so that she felt the swelling in his trousers. Without thinking, she urgently ground her hips against his erection, making him moan. Suddenly, he pulled her arms down from his shoulders and held her away from him, giving her a look of exaggerated suspicion.

"Now, hold on there, little lady, don't go saddlin' up if you ain't planning to take a ride…" he said in a mocking cowboy drawl.

"I'm riding." she said firmly.

He burst into laughter. "Oh, what's the matter, isn't good ol' Harv taking care of business? Not getting the job done? Not…" She pressed her mouth against him, mostly to shut him up before he got on a roll, but also because she wanted to taste him again.

"Come on, cowboy." she ordered, for a change. She led him to her bed, and began undressing. He smirked in complete amusement, but lust overcame his desire to fully humiliate her for her willing indiscretion, and he hastily slipped out of his jacket and jeans. Completely naked, Rachel began unbuttoning his shirt, then tugged his boxer shorts down. They fell together on the bed, kissing and fondling each other with desperate need.

He pushed her down onto her back, and, after first slipping his fingers inside her to make sure she was ready for him, knelt between her parted thighs. Then he eased into her, smiling down at her beautiful face, loving the way her body enveloped him and the way she reared up against him as he thrust into her. "_Harvey_—really _has_ been--_neglecting you_—hasn't he?" he panted in between thrusts, still amused.

"Will you just shut up and fuck me," she said between gritted teeth.

"Yes, _ma'am_…"

When they finished, they lay quietly in each other's arms. They both knew it was the last time they'd be together like this. Rachel had decided—she would bring Harvey back fully into her life, to be her lover again. It wasn't fair to keep him at arms length until she got over her infatuation with the criminal known as the Joker. She had to shake herself out of her fantasy world and get back into her own life.

And Jack decided that he couldn't withstand another meeting like this without scooping Rachel up and carrying her back to…where? He had no real home now. He had nothing to offer her or anyone else, except the band of crazy, highly disposable hoodlums that he was quietly assembling. He had to let her go. He had to forget how much she'd gotten to him; he couldn't afford to go soft on some girl. There was…too much at stake, now.

He finally got up and began to dress, as did Rachel. They walked hand in hand to the living room, preparing to say goodbye. She hugged him tightly again, and he lifted her up in a bear hug that left her laughing helplessly. "Put me down, silly." she pleaded.

He complied and they stood staring at each other.

"Goodbye, Jack. Please be careful."

"Goodbye, Rachel. Take care of Harvey. He's…uh…a good man."

They kissed one more time and Jack turned to open the door, when the doorbell rang. Rachel peeked through the peep hole and turned worriedly to the Joker—"It's Harvey!" she whispered.

He grinned. "Well, let him in, don't keep the man waiting."

She rolled her eyes—what in the world was he going to pull now?—and opened the door. Harvey stepped in, and stopped short, seeing Jack. "Hello? I'm Harvey Dent," he automatically thrust his hand out, in true politician style. "And you are?"

"I'm the security consultant Ms. Dawes called, I'm with Jack's Home Security. I was just saying that this entire building needs a thorough going over, can't be too careful with your family's safety, now can you? Anyway, Ms. Dawes, you have my card, just give me a call if you decide you want a written estimate."

With that, he jauntily stepped past Harvey, Rachel, and the police officer, and, somehow, disappeared from view before Harvey had a chance to speak.

"What happened to his face?" Harvey asked, dismayed.

"He was in a terrible accident. He said if only the building he lived in had updated its security system, it never would have happened."

She thrust her hands into her pockets, and found an unfamiliar piece of slick cardboard. She pulled it out and saw it was a Joker card. She smiled ruefully and shook her head, sliding it back before Harvey noticed. Later, she would place it next to the little clown and ballerina figures, which were discretely displayed behind Bud and Lou's small fish bowl.

Every once in a while, Rachel would pick up the delicate figures, examine their painted faces, and for a moment, be back in Jack's warm, strong arms again, his blonde hair falling around his face, his scars disappearing with his sweet, twisted smile.

"_But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas…  
But it's all right…I'm jumping Jack Flash,  
It's a gas gas gas…."*_

The End

*(Jagger/Richards)


End file.
